


The Truth Of The Matter

by ozsia



Series: Over Truth There is Light [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Reality, Characters of Colour, Class Differences, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Truth Spells, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsia/pseuds/ozsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin hadn’t had any intention of confessing his affection to Chrom. It would have been a burden, improper, unwelcome and - damnit it all, they were at war. There more important things than his feelings and the impossibility of it. </p><p>Of course, it was just Robin’s luck that he would be struck by a curse that forces him to speak the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curses Abound

‘-This happen?’ 

‘The fool jumped out in front of me.’ 

‘Ugh. _Boy,_ do the two of you deserve each other.’

The voices above him echoed through his mind on the waves buzzing in his ears. Consciousness was slow to return, like he was getting squeezed back into the cracks of his body through his wounds. Flat on his back, air was soggy in his chest, just a bit too wet with every breath clogging his throat. He felt terrible.

Pain - _his_ pain was becoming tangible now, though with his thoughts getting louder as he grasped onto the understanding that his discomfort meant he was still alive, it brought on comprehension. His stomach tightened, his mind acknowledging the miracle as his jaw cracked in a hiss of suffering when he shifted and further agitation his wounds. 

‘Careful! _Careful_ , Robin.’ The demand is gentle and familiar as he pries his eyes open and sees not the anarchy of battlefield he was expecting, but the stillness of a mass grave they corrode into. Deep blue eyes demand his attention more though as a large hand manoeuvres Robin’s sight away from the devastation just on the outskirts of his vision. The touch is a whisper but unyielding against his face and Robin follows it wordlessly to be greeted with a concerned smile. ‘Thank Naga. You’re awake now,’ is sighed in relief. 

The heat of Chrom’s palm sears into Robin’s cheek before it shifts, trailing down to rest in the curve of his throat were it can smoulder its way though skin and muscle alike. Robin blinks up, his mind slow and disorganised, focusing on one thing to the next while his body continues to alert him of the hurt it has been afflicted with. 

‘Robby,’ the voice of Chrom’s sister calls, tune like a bell if not with the weight of a raincloud about to burst. Lissa is crouched with her skirt hiked up, draped over her knees to Chrom’s side, her battle crinoline missing but seemingly unneeded. ‘Hey.’ Another smile, softer, as healer’s hands twist anxiously at a beaten Mend Staff. 

Robin’s vision isn’t its clearest but he categorises the two for injury. Chrom had a lot of scrapes on him, small and unimportant with purpling bruises to accompany them. The cut on his left arm, was deep but appeared to be treated and was just about the worst thing he could see. Lissa seemed - fine, one of her sleeves were torn (arrow?) but there didn’t seem to be any blood, so there wasn’t anything to worry about, other than the bags under her eyes and the sloping line of her back.

‘Robin?’ Chrom prompts, his smile fading.

It took a second to cotton onto the fact they they probably wanted some sort of response. ‘Ouch,’ Robin murmurs if just to give his thoughts a second longer to try and - settle? Chrom snorts but appears to be waiting for something else. Foreign energy was simmering though and Robin couldn’t quite place it as a memory stares at him, forceful but not entirely unwelcome. _Deja vu,_ Virion had said to him once during one of their games, in a tongue foreign to the ones Robin spoke. 

‘Seems familiar,’ he finally says without meaning to, the words slipping out before he could censor them and shape them into something else entirely. 

Surprise flickers across Chrom’s tired face but it eases the frown that had been engraved onto the prince’s forehead. Two sets of blue eyes blink down at Robin before Chrom is inclining his head. ‘It is, at that,’ he agrees with a twist of his lips. ‘I think I’ve had enough of seeing you laid out in fields, however.’ 

Plegia was not Ylisse; this region did not have lush grass or soft, flourishing planation. Plegia had minerals: metals, rock and ore in its stead. ‘Sand this time,’ Robin retorts drowsily and that had been - difficult. Selecting members who’d be adapt enough to fight in this environment had been a struggle enough of its own. 

‘And how’re you be feeling?’ Lissa interrupts, all but fidgeting as she stares at him expectantly.

‘Feeling?’ Robin repeats, examining that word a bit too closely as his usual “I’m fine” disappears from his lips. It’d been a good while since he’d qualified for a solid “okay”, with long nights spent trying to work how to kill people. With piled up injuries from battles of alternating between fighting partners to get a good handle on each member of the army, so he could pair them off again to someone else; to better his strategies. With headaches that stopped his progress dead, left him a useless pile of flesh.

Lissa shares a look of concern with Chrom, her face - seeming to have aged far too quickly since he’d first seen it - morphs into something warier. ‘What’s the last thing you remember, Robin?’ she asks gently.

Robin frowned, knows that he isn’t himself, is too slow, is too - something. He wrestles with himself until he is recalling the night before, bent over maps double checking the positioning of the troops **.** Contingency plans were few but memorised. His candle had still been burning when Chrom had waded in and forced him to bed, all but tucked him in before leaving him without his writing utensils. Then - 

Standing on the front lines is stark, bellowing orders so that everyone could hear that Robin, himself, is almost deaf. The start of the battle happens all too quick. It is the end, everyone knows it. The noise is the storm without shelter as blades began to tear into skin and through armour. The sound of the elementals being called forth is cosmic. The rumble of Nowi’s dragon as she roars. It was always the worst; it’s always what Robin remembered above the smell and the scars he carries. The sounds haunt him.

‘We…were fighting and - Gangrel? You killed him.’ The words were too sharp in Robin’s throat, like glass pieces he had been forced to swallow, and the sense that something is wrong with him is strong however clouded. 

Chrom’s hand squeeze into Robin and his eyes seem to be endeavouring to be encouraging, as he keeps them wide and direct. ‘Yes, you distracted him with Thoron, gave me enough of a chance to slip through his defences.’

Robin recalls the Levin Sword, can still taste his panic at realising what it was just before Gangrel struck with lightning at his fingertips. Robin had pushed them ahead, anyway. Chrom had been unable to turn away at that point and - ‘you needed to face him,’ Robin murmurs. Chrom needed the resolution, needed the justice few things in life would give him.

Chrom has moments since Lady Emmeryn was lost where he appeared very brittle but there is gratitude that Robin doesn’t deserve there, too. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’ The certainty is enough to make Robin’s teeth ache from the sweetness, and it leaves a bitter sense in Robin’s mouth. 

‘No,’ Robin denies immediately, without meaning to. 

Chrom’s frown deepens. ‘You protected me,’ the prince states as he holds onto Robin tighter. ‘Like you’ve protected me a hundred times before.’

Robin felt himself tense as the image of a Plegian soldier seeps into his mind. ‘Dark Mage,’ Robin mutters to which Chrom nods, the prince's jaw clenching at the mention. Gangrel had fallen, his sword dropping just before he did, into the dust with his face twisted and still screaming long after he had stopped. Chrom had turned towards Robin but they hadn’t fully cleared the area - least, soldiers had only just started to surrender when a dark mage pounces out from a sandhill.

Intent clear in his raised, outstretched hand sparking with magic unrecognised, Robin barely had a chance to think before he was shoving Chrom’s unprotected back clear of the oncoming attack. The swirling energy had struck Robin in the chest with enough force to stagger him. For one painless second, Robin had thought it had been a wasted effort when the next his hands were seizing around his tome and his broken sword. The world tilted then and -

‘Olivia got him,’ Lissa states with a hint of vindication that was the byproduct of watching her older sister jump to her death. She couldn’t tolerate violence and had little stomach for the war she actively aided, but that edge of her was there, and it was sharper than what was expected. ‘Jeez, though Robin, when you go down you go _down.’_

‘Grima’s own luck,’ Robin agrees with a strangled huff. 

Lissa shakes her head. ‘Fell Dragon notwithstanding, I want to know how you feel. I didn’t get a chance to look you over before you woke up and you’re past due a check-up.’ 

‘It feels like I see you everyday, Princess,’ Robin says partially in jest and partially because he didn’t know how to say that his condition felt like the worst it had gotten after battle.

The skin under Lissa’s eyes clench. ‘Where’re you injured, Robin?’ She demands, direct and no-nonsense like she had learnt how to be. It was an attitude she had adopted over the course of the campaign and being the support of too many, much too young.

Robin barely gets a second to hear the words before his mouth his opening of its own accord. ‘My head, from a Flux Tome, I think. My right side was burnt by another mage. My left ankle - I, can’t feel it. Hurt it from a fall I took dodging a bandit.’

The words only just stop and his left hand instantly flies to his mouth as his face twists in apprehension. Chrom seems almost panicked. ‘Well…’ Lissa begins into the sudden silence. ‘Now I _know_ there’s something wrong with you.’ 

‘Of course,’ Robin response through the skin of his roughened palm, his stomach sinking as his eyes stare wide between brother and sister. ‘People have been telling me that since I joined the Shepherds.’

‘What?’ Chrom demands instantly, eyes sparking with fire as he learns forward. He forgets his own strength for a second, squeezing Robin a bit too tight before he notices Robin’s discomfort and instantly loosens up even if it isn’t enough to distract him. ‘Sorry - just, _what_ did you say?’

Robin tries to tell himself to shut up, to remain silent but he is compelled to answer. ‘People have been telling me that since I joined the Shepherds,’ he repeats. Fear is starting to stir in his chest with the horrified knowledge that he cannot control the censor between his brain and his mouth.

That was probably one of the worst things for Chrom to be made aware of. The prince was honourable and took any insult about a friend, an ally or family to heart. He didn’t have the biggest social circles despite his status - or maybe because of it - but he was loyal, and didn’t take criticism of those he _was_ close to well.

‘No!’ Lissa rushes to reassure, hands rising in defence and luckily cutting through her brother’s temper. Robin didn’t know how safe it’d be for him to respond to Chrom about the subject at hand. ‘That’s not what I meant! You - you just never tell anyone when you’re hurt unless you’ve got an arrow sticking out of your back, or you have a hole in your gut!’

Robin sucks in a breath as he tries to ignore the present discomfort. ‘I know, Lissa. You and Chrom have been nothing but good to me.’ They had done more than anyone would have. ‘Our budget is thin though, and Mend Staffs - they’re expensive. The campaign lasted for longer than our funds could afford it to and the cost of equipment kept rising. I couldn’t come to you for something trivial.’

Chrom’s face might as well have been made of stone but Lissa - even with her own crumbles. She was learning forward and setting herself off of her hunches, so that she was on her knees with her hands propping herself up until she was leaning into Robin’s space. ‘Wha - Lissa?’ Robin begins to ask as his vision is filled with sky blue eyes, small hands gently tilting his head as she seems to assess him.

Lissa’s expression shifts as she moves back into a kneel. ‘I don’t think he has a concussion,’ she says, obviously addressing her brother than him as she claps off the fine sand which had stuck to sweat.

‘I didn’t hit my head,’ Robin confirms though it hurts, most likely it was from the pressure of the Flux Tome or the amount of mana he had used. Not to blunt trauma.

‘Then what’s wrong with him?’ Chrom bites out, he’s trying to rein in his temper because he’s speaking to his little sister but it’s still something he struggles with. ‘The last time he was so… _talkative,_ Vaike had spiked his drink,’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Robin.’ One of their newest recruits glides into Robin’s eyesight, striding through Plegian terrain like a true native. Tharja, deadly and not to be trifled with, looked down at them as she approached, gaze heavy and eyes dark. ‘He’s been cursed.’ 

‘The Dark Mage…’ Chrom says with sudden clarity as his expression morphs into something stricken, his grip on Robin almost bruising like he was terrified Robin would slip through his fingers.

‘I didn’t recognise what he cast,’ Robin adds. He’d warned every one of their command from the Shepherds to the recruits to their allies that dark mages were tricky, more so than ordinary mages or sages. Their field of study was often more board and dangerous because battle magic was their focus, instead of simply harmonising with an element or healing. Elder Magic, too, they toyed with.

Tharja glances at him as she pulls what seemed like a tome from underneath her cloak, where from exactly was anyones guess. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. You have powerful magic but you’re no dark mage.’ It wasn’t said like an insult but something was almost odd about her tone. ‘I was close enough to hear the enchantment; it was not an offensive chant -’

‘Why are you telling us this _now_?’ Chrom cuts in.

Tharja’s lips curl but she answers with minimal change to her demeanour, though Robin can’t help but think that did little to endear them, and that she will remember that. ‘I took the liberty of looking at his spell book. It’s a grimoire.’ She twists her wrist to turn the dark cover and expose the Theban indented into the leather.  _To death,_ the letters read.

Robin’s mouth was so dry it felt like he’d attempted to eat his way through Plegia’s desert plains, but he can’t find it in him to enquire about it. ‘What’s a grimoire?’ Chrom asks for him.

‘It’s a personal spell book that any self-respecting dark mage possesses. Some are passed down through generations, others are taken to the Athenaeum for everyone to use, few are burnt.’ Tharja’s explanation is brief but Robin had noticed she tended not to talk much, and when she did she offered the minimal she could. The sneer wasn’t new either. 

'T-the chant, was it…?’ Lissa’s stutter is a failing of her confidence as she grows increasingly stressed, but Tharja doesn’t seem to blink at it as she redirects.

‘It sounded like a variation to a more common chant which is why I looked through his grimoire when I saw what had happened. Luckily, this reads as amateur at best.’ She gestured to the spell book carelessly but her grip on the cover was tight, almost agitated. ‘The dastard confused “Sceþþan” with "Sóþsegen".’ 

‘Meaning _what?’_ Chrom demands as he loses his grip on his patience. ‘What’s happened to Robin?’ 

‘“Sceþþan” is a common hex,’ Tharja responses as she puts the grimoire away. ‘It roughly translates to “to injure”. Fool was probably trying to be smart and completely forgot that the hex originally works on the mage’s intent to specify the sort of injury it would give the victim, anyway. It’s more than powerful enough to kill when used efficiently.’ 

‘Then - what was Robin actually hit with?’ Lissa asks with a meekness that was born from being helplessness, and the fear of having to go through losing a loved one again. 

‘You should be able to tell.’ Tharja’s reply is sharp as she stares at Robin. ‘You’ve noticed, haven’t you? How loose your tongue is?’

‘I -’ Numbly, Robin nods though he attempts to keep his jaw locked. ‘I feel like I’m forced to respond.’

Tharja inclines her head, as if Robin is confirming something she knew. ‘“Sóþsegen” means “statement of truth”. It would render those that are hit with it unable to lie. It makes the victim urged to talk.’ 

‘Robin?’ Chrom’s address is almost shaky, looking at Robin for direction that the tactician is quick to shake away. ‘Is there anyway to undo it?’ 

Tharja doesn’t answer right away. ‘…I can’t say. I’ll look into it.’

Lissa straightens, her staff clutched between her hands in a way that is starting to stress the metal shaft. Physical strength seemed to be a family trait. ‘But you said it was - _amateur!’_ she cries out.

‘It is,’ Tharja answers steadily, unfazed by Lissa’s distress. ‘But undoing something which is already done is irritatingly harder. _I’ll look into it.’_ Lissa’s lip trembles before she bites down on it and settles back.

‘…okay,’ Lissa mutters despondently. Her pigtails seem to droop as she glances down towards the floor. 

‘Robin,’ Tharja addresses with a distinct flatness to her voice. ‘For now, all you can do is live with it. Most hexes of this nature can be gained resistance to over time but that’s all the reassurance I can give you.’ 

‘That’s not all that reassuring,’ Robin retorts before he can fully think about it. When he realises what he’s said he squeezes his eyes closed. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Not as much as you’re going to be, I think.’ Tharja snorts as she shrugs her cloak further forward. ‘I hope you don’t have any secrets you feel like keeping, Robin. By the end of this, I doubt you’ll have any.’

Robin’s stomach drops and he suddenly felt very, very sick. 


	2. To The Camp

‘Easy does it, Robby,’ 

‘Steady,’ Chrom sighs with his arm wrapped around his tactician’s waist, supporting the man from further ruining his left leg as they journey back to camp. Lissa had been decidedly unamused when she had examined him and had gotten to his ankle which was swollen, purpling and seemed very dislocated once they had cut away his leather boot. It had been a mess she could do little but numb until they could get to the healer’s tent.

Despite this injury and however much pain it must have been causing Robin, the man was stubbornly refusing to lean on Chrom even with how little choice he was given in the matter. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Robin bites out with some difficulty, probably struggling with his words now he didn’t have his patented control.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Robin,’ Chrom huffs while pulling his stiff friend closer. He wished that he knew what to do to make Robin allow himself to relax because whatever it was, Chrom would do it. ‘It’s a long trek back to Ylisstol and even on a steed, you’re going to jostle your leg so let me help you now.’

‘No, we shouldn’t head for Ylisstol.’ Robin shakes his head, allowing more strands of hair free from where it’d been hastily tied it with a clasp that Maribelle had given him. To “make him more presentable,” apparently. Robin’s eyes are direct then, as steadfast and true as they had always been. ‘We need to go to Ferox.’

‘Huh?’ Lissa almost trips.

Chrom blinks, as that hadn’t been what he’d expected the protest to be about. ‘What?’ he asks, with the sudden understanding that perhaps he should have spoken with his tactician about this before. 

‘A majority of our troops are Feroxian and you’ll agree that we are vastly weakened, yes?’ Robin begins as intelligence burns. Chrom has never known someone so bright. ‘Risen still roam - if we were to get surrounded in this condition, I can’t guarantee our safety once our forces break off from Basilio and Flavia, if we headed to Ylisse.’

‘Then…’ Chrom fumbles for a moment. ‘Then what do you recommend? The Council will want us back as soon as possible. You know how unhappy they were when they discovered that our party included the Feroxi.’

‘The Council’s opinion of the Feroxi are gratuitous and unbidden. If they have something to say then they really should direct their doubts to Khan Flavia.’ Robin’s tongue is cutting, especially in an area where he tried to be delicate. Chrom didn’t mind and he could he Lissa’s stifled snort a mile away. ‘I’ve got a half-written document of alliance that can officiate the countries relations. The Council can complain about _that.’_

Regna Ferox hadn’t ever given Ylisse trouble but any sort of peace written out on paper that Emmeryn had attempted to push, failed. The Khans had never been interested before and with at least one antagonistic neighbour, Emm had been fine with how things had been because neutrality was better than the alternative. If Robin thought that it would succeed now, Chrom was certain his tactician to be right. With their relationship with the Khans as they are made him more confident in this. However, they had digressed a bit. ‘And, as ever, I shall trust you to guide us. But, Robin…’ he prompts.

‘Yeah, what’s this about heading to Ferox?’ Lissa enquires though she is no doubt missing her bed back at the castle. Missing _home_ and everything that that entails. 

Robin huffs a frustrated breath, shifting in obvious pain as they continue their way to the Healer’s tent. ‘I won’t lose anymore men, Chrom. The Council may be…displeased, but I place the safety of you and our company above their sensibilities.’ Robin bites his lip, one of his tells as Chrom senses the tension, can feel the agitation. ‘We’ve already lost too many, Chrom. _I_ have lost too many -’

‘ _Our_ loses were not your fault, Robin,’ Chrom interrupts though his words will mean little. Robin is a man of honour; he carries every death with him as a personal failure. It doesn’t matter to Robin that it is his tactics that keep the majority of them alive, or that without Robin entirely the campaign would have been for nought. ‘You cannot save everyone.’

‘I should have been able to save _her_ ,’ blurts itself out of Robin’s mouth. There was no doubt in Chrom’s mind who “she” was, it didn’t need to be confirmed. The guilt surrounding that day took on a life of its own but it wasn’t something Chrom wanted Robin carrying.

‘Don’t do this,’ Chrom murmurs as he tightens his hold on Robin. Emm’s death was still too raw for Chrom to speak of but Robin wasn’t at fault. If Robin hadn’t been there… The silence is stifling and Lissa has gone impossibly white in the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t do this to yourself.’ 

‘I should have been able to do better,’ Robin continues to push as if he does not see the absolution he should not feel he needs. His mouth is a tense, frigid line with grief glazing his eyes into something murky.

‘I don’t expect you to do _better,’_ Chrom tries to emphasise because Robing doesn’t just give his all to the cause, he gives _everything._ Chrom can in no way undermine that than he could stab Robin in the back. ‘You did your _best.’_

Robin half kills himself performing his duties. Blood, sweat and tears and been shred for a country Robin didn’t even hail from, with every bit of effort and energy dedicated to ensuring the safety to people he had no fealty to. ‘Robin,’ Chrom says as he attempts to soothe this misplaced hurt. ‘What happened - Emm, she…’ he takes a shuddering breath before forcing the rest of the words out. ‘She made the choice to protect us. Don’t take that away from her.’

‘It shouldn’t have come down to that,’ Robin explodes quietly while his jaw is clenching shut. ‘You were _relying_ on me and I let you down.’ Where Chrom had fought to go on, Robin struggles to stop as he involuntarily glanced towards Lissa. ‘I let you _both_ down.’

‘Robin -’

‘I think,’ Lissa’s voice wobbles as she steps away from them. ‘I think while you - hash this out, I’ll go…go tell Frederick our route will be changing.’ Robin cringes as she starts to hurry away with her shoulders rounded like they are about to march again. Her skirt and hair are already trailing behind her in a curtain of yellow and gold when she swivels back around, her eyes too bright.

‘Make sure to take care of him, bro,' she demands thickly. 'I’ll meet you at the tent.’

‘Alright.’ Chrom sighs as she starts to jog away but speed is limited with this sand and their inability to proper walk on it. ‘Robin,’ Chrom starts again, throat tight.

‘I’m sorry,’ Robin says immediately with a pinched expression. ‘I didn’t mean to bring any of this up again.’ 

‘I…don’t care about that,’ Chrom responds while wishing that Robin would open just a little bit more. The tactician simply refused to talk about his own problems which complicated things. ’Robin, I don’t blame you. No one does.’

Chrom had been - well, "devastated" would have been putting it mildly but he hadn’t thought Robin had been at fault, not for a second. Robin had been meticulous because he understood what was at stake. He took his usual level of diligence and doubled it. Robin had had contingency plans and escape routes mapped out. He’d arranged added foot soldiers and aid of the Pegasus Knights. He’d done _everything_ he could. 

And when everything went wrong, Robin had pulled through for Chrom again by literally forcing him to his feet and leading them _out of there._ Chrom hadn’t been fit to fight, so Robin protected him. Chrom hadn’t been capable to lead, so Robin took command. Robin shouldered a whole army that day and did it while thinking himself a failure.

‘I do,’ Robin responds bitterly.

‘Robin,’ Chrom says with so much severity he thinks they could both suffocate under it. ‘Without you -’

‘Stop.’ Robin looks pained now, his eyes shut before they are readdressing Chrom with a helplessness that Chrom would do anything to remove. ‘I can’t - I can’t do this. Now. Not like this.’

Chrom swallows and tries to ignore the tightness of his stomach as he concentrates on repositioning his grip on his - his friend. Robin had rarely denied him before, especially in areas of communication. Even now words were flooding Chrom’s mouth and he wanted to say them, he wanted to try and give comfort; to ask why Robin thought he was so unworthy - but..it wouldn’t be fair.

To continue now would be a breach of privacy, of trust, with Robin unable to challenge any truth asked of him. Staring at Robin and his pleading, Chrom could do nothing less but nod. ‘Of course,’ Chrom responds. ‘But…please, Robin. Don’t blame yourself unnecessarily.’

Numbly, Chrom watches as Robin bites down on his abused lip as if to stop himself from responding with something that would be further damning. Maybe it’d been foolish of Chrom, but Robin had been so put together through their campaign, a rock for the company, that he hadn’t expected the tactician to be harbouring so much guilt.

Chrom heard a lot about how people thought Robin was - detached, and although it was something that they were quickly disillusioned of, it cropped back up more times than Chrom cared for. Robin’s struggles was with emoting, not caring. If anything, Chrom thought that Robin felt too much, too quickly. 

With his memory how it was, it left Robin in a delicate situation. Made things - him, perhaps - a tad complicated. Whatever had ailed his mind; stolen his memories, had also taken other things too. Things you grew learning. Often times it was just the case of having Robin _do_ something and he would pick it up again, _remember,_ but it didn’t solve the problem.

‘Lord Chrom! Robin!’ a voice called, jolting Chrom out of his musings as he looked up to see Stahl approaching in an exhausted half-run, armour clanking with every step as he closed the distance between them. ‘The princess said you might require a guard to the Healer’s tent,’ the knight informs simply as he stops in front of them.

Chrom _loved_ his sister. ‘Yes, that’d be appreciated,’ he thanks with a drained smile, the weak pull of his lips enough to strain his face. Chrom had his hands full and although the Plegian troops had surrendered, he had little trust out on the remains of a battlefield, so vulnerable. With his hands full like this, he wouldn’t be able to attack and Robin was past defending. 

Stahl nodded though his green eyes were flickering to Robin as he moved to walk with them. ‘Ah. Did…Lissa tell you…?’ Chrom trailed off as he glanced over the top of Robin’s head, never so glad that the man’s robe was shredded and that his features were left undisguised, though it probably just had Robin feeling even more exposed. 

Stahl nodded grimly, his face sober as he confirmed as much. Robin had had armoured units either stay back or left them at the camp due to the terrain; worried about them getting separated from the main pact and then picked off. Stahl had been one of the few mounted knights defending their rear but he wouldn’t have been anywhere close to the front lines.

Stahl takes a step to Robin’s side, shifting his weapon in his grip as he does so. His gaze is undeniably soft when he looks at Robin. ‘Heard you’d run afoul of a dark mage. How’re you holding up, Robin?’ 

‘I’ve been better,’ Robin responds delicately and it is decidedly stiff but Chrom can see the man attempt a smile. Robin was used to putting on airs, to pretending but Chrom still hadn’t seen the tactician quite so unguarded before, so disarmed.

‘Well.’ Stahl hesitates, a frown shadowing his eyes. ‘No biggie, Robin. Everything will work itself out.’ 

Something agitated flashes across Robin’s face and it looks like he’s fighting with himself before his mouth is opening. ‘Say that again once I’ve spoken of secrets that I’ve promised to safeguard.’ The snap is sharp, pained. Of course, Robin spent near all his time getting to know the people around him, and with the tactician so observant it wasn’t a surprise that he knew things that he would feel he needed to protect.

Stahl hums awkwardly. ‘That could make things a bit inconvenient,’ Stahl says, tone appeasing and kind. In a way he was Sully’s exact opposite who was abrasive and often times harsh. That they worked so well together was ironic. ‘It’s not going to be your fault. I’m sure everyone will understand.’ 

‘Will you understand?’ Robin whispers. The tension under his eyes makes him look years older and Chrom regrets adding to his tactician’s stress. He still remembered the fresh face Robin once wore before he had been brought into one conflict after another. 

‘Yes,’ Stahl’s answer is immediate and sincere though it does little to ease any of the wariness from Robin’s frame, Chrom is still grateful for the knights steadfast loyalty. ‘You’re my friend, Robin. What’s a few words compared to everything we’ve been through?’

‘What’s throwing people’s secrets back in their faces in the sum of a few battles?’ Reborn retorts. Chrom can feel the trembling on against his skin. ‘And then there’s _me_. What am I going to do if I tell -?’

Without warning, Robin was slamming a fist into his own face. The strength of the blow unbalances Chrom who is fatigued and sore and the momentum sends them both to the ground. Chrom grunts when he lands with the force of touchdown reverberating through his spine. Robin’s weight is bruising and Falchion’s hilt stabs into his ribs with the angle they had landed. 

‘Milord! Robin!’ Stahl gasps, dropping to hover over them but Chrom’s waiting for the world to stop spinning as his injuries start to scream at him. He hisses out the pain, pushing it down as he focuses on his side because Robin would have taken the brunt of the fall with how they’d gone down. 

‘Robin?’ The tactician is half draped over Chrom’s lap, half sprawled over the sand. Robin’s head is braced uncomfortably against Chrom’s pauldron which he seemed to have knocked in the fall. His nose is red but it is luckily not bleeding while his bad leg is still held straight, but his eyes are squeezed shut and a trembling hand is smothering his mouth.

‘Blast it, Robin!’ Chrom can’t help but yell. Robin had said, himself, that he was in a state. Enough that Lissa needed him to return to camp. To risk further injury - a head wound of all things was - it was -

‘Robin, can you open your eyes?’ Stahl asks calmly from where he’s crouched in front of with them. His expression is dark with concern, hands fluttering around their tactician like he wasn’t sure if he should touch or not. ‘Robin.’

Robin groans, shattered and nasally. His breath fans against Chrom’s check though it was so hot in Plegia he could barely feel it. In fact, Robin was almost cold in the climate. ‘…I hate my luck,’ the tactician complains in an act of rare self-pity. His eyes wrench open, and they’re watering now. Chrom despises how he can’t tell if they’re tears or just the shock from impact.

Deeply exasperated and greatly worried, Chrom lets go of the anger and sighs. ‘Was that really necessary?’

Before Robin can answer - or try not to - Stahl is placing a careful had on Chrom’s shoulder. ‘Try not to ask him that, Milord. He can’t help himself right now and if he goes to such extremes, he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.’

Chrom near bites his tongue off. Right. _Right._ Still, he can’t help but feel somewhat uneasy with the sad knowing glint in Stahl’s eyes. Instead, Chrom quietly exhales - thinks he’ll be doing a lot of that, and tries to shift just a bit. ‘Could you help us up?’ 

Stahl nods, offering a hand which Chrom clasps onto after securing his other arm around Robin’s waist. Stahl hefts them both up, though his muscles still strain and his wounds pull as he gets to his feet. The green knight waits a moment to ensure that they are steady before he steps away without prompting. 

‘Alright?’ Chrom whispers to Robin who nods silently.

‘Let’s get the pair of you back to camp, hm?’ Stahl suggests as he steps around to Robin’s opposite side, almost clumsily balancing his lance onto his shoulder. From what Chrom understood, Stahl had always been more deft with a sword before Robin had encouraged the knight to expand his skill set. 

‘Yes,’ Chrom agrees as he slowly begins walking, careful not to rush his tactician. ‘Robin?’ he hedges while his stomach knots. ‘I’m - sorry, if I made you uncomfortable.’ 

His tactician takes a deep breath. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for,’ he refutes. ‘…can’t we - can we…’ he gestures with his free arm as he keeps his head down and eyes adverted. 

Robin doesn’t have to finish, they’ve already done this. ‘Yes, right.’ Chrom swallows thickly. ‘Will… I will speak to Flavia later about matching to Ferox.’

The change in subject was silently asked for and although Robin’s expression is inscrutable, there’s relief in how he breathes out. ‘We’ll need to send a messenger to Ylisse to appease the Council.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ Chrom asks.

‘Sumia, I think,’ Robin suggests without too much of a pause. He’d already known who would be best for the job when he’d brought this up, Robin’s mind just seemed to work like that.

'Sumia?' Chrom asks, blinking in surprise.

'She's more than capable,' Robin says confidently despite how clumsy she had been in the beginning. Chrom knew that Robin, himself, had been very conscious of Sumia's limitations and acted accordingly. 

'Of course, I just assumed you'd want Cordelia.' Chrom shrugs. Out of the two Cordelia would perhaps be the quickest, especially with her work ethic speeding things along. 

Robin shakes his head. 'No, the Council don't appreciate her. If they'll even listen to her with all their superstition. Sumia also comes from a noble family, which will make it easier.' 

‘Are we not heading home?’ Stahl cuts in quietly. 

The bruises underneath Stahl’s eyes are suddenly more noticeable when Chrom looks over to him. ‘Our first course is to journey to Ferox,’ Chrom confirms slowly because he knew how long his men had been travelling and they were probably all desperate to get home; to see their families. 

Stahl blinks but his smile remains stretched across his lips. ‘I see, are we just escorting the Feroxians back to the Border Pass?’

Chrom appreciates the questions, he likes that the people under him feel comfortable enough to ask things of him. It means that Chrom is doing something right but Robin never feels that same ease. The tactician will stand his ground, will explain his decisions or his strategies, however, Robin’s confidence seems to be more facade than fact.

‘It would be correct to say that they would be escorting us,’ Robin admits as his teeth briefly worry his bottom lip. ‘If we went back by ourselves it would mean separating from over half our forces and crossing by the Plegia Castle in order to reach the Border Pass to arrive at Ylisstol. In our condition if we were to get surrounded by Risen or bandits or even plegians…’

‘That’s why we’ll be travelling the long way around,’ Chrom comments when Robin trails off. Robin for all he seemed tentative about boundaries, had never seemed to realise that he had been alleviated from just a Shepherd to Chrom’s second in command. If anything happened to Chrom, Robin had the authority to take over.

‘Ah, that would be a problem,’ Stahl concedes easily enough before addressing Robin with a deep fondness born of battles won and lost together, blood shed and taken together, and faith in each other’s convictions and abilities. ‘It’s good that we have you to look out for us, huh?’ 

Chrom took no small amount of joy to see the Shepherds grow closer with Robin; to watch as Robin acclimatised to them and how they in turn adopted him as one of their own despite convention saying that it never should have worked. Their relationships had passed what spectators might’ve thought possible when Chrom had first brought Robin home with him.

Chrom was never so relieved to have ignored Frederick’s suspicions. Finding an unconscious man in a robe of purple, black and gold with Grima’s eyes on the sleeves was unsettling and he hadn’t needed Frederick’s warning to identify the possible danger; though Chrom tried never to be prejudice, they had few friends in Plegia and some vigilance was better than none. 

He had promised himself and in fewer thoughts, his sister - that he’d never act on such a thing without cause. Tanned skin from hot climates and white hair, like the sunbeams from the sun or the settlement of snowfall was not enough. Eyes bright bright like rubies; that his mother’s midwife had shared before the life had been taken from them...it was not enough.  It never had been. The war his father had raged - the number of people that had died…

Robin’s discomfort is clear as he never seems to know what to do with affection. ‘We need to gather our strength.’ The words are perhaps a bit mulish as Robin keeps his eyes turned away from both of them, while avoiding the sight of his leg. ‘If Khan Flavia will allow it, we should plan to recuperate for a few days.’

Chrom nods though he wishes to get back to Ylisse as soon as possible, Robin is right in that rushing this wouldn’t do them any favours and wasn’t worth the risk. ‘I’ll make sure to speak with them.’ 

A ripple of uncertainty tightens Robin’s shoulders are his lips purse. ‘Only if you agree, Chrom. If you don’t -’

‘Robin, of course I do,’ Chrom interrupts in bafflement. ‘Why the debate? It’s obviously the smarter idea. I doubt Flavia or Basilio will mind. Besides, out of the two of us I much rather rely on you for this than myself, you and that big brain of yours.’

‘I just - don’t want people to think that I am manipulating you,’ Robin admits before it seems to sink in just what he has said and his skin pales. With how washed out it was already, it was almost impressive.

Chrom’s stomach drops further. ‘What?’ he asks for clarification though he worries he already knows where this is going. Robin does not answer him, in fact he seems to curl into himself a bit more. ‘Robin?’ 

‘Sire,’ Stahl coughs with unease. ‘There’ve been some…whispers amongst some of the soldiers - not the Shepherds! Everyone of ours accepts Robin - of course - but others…question him, and his position, in regards to you, Milord.’ 

Something in Chrom stills in a sickly sinking feeling as fire starts to burn, and outrage whispers its place into his heart. Chrom could admit that he was not an academic but he wasn’t ignorant either. He knew what that would mean. ‘Who - for how long?' he bites out from the iron on his tongue and the sand in his teeth. 

Stahl grimaces. ‘Since his - his introduction,’ the knight reveals with his own set of grievances, it seems as his brow gets heavier. ‘There’ve been some debate about whether or not he was a spy…’

Chrom can hear the _among other things_ even if Stahl doesn’t say it. ‘From what evidence?’ Robin had never once wavered in his loyalty. He’d never once done anything to even _hint -_

Stahl’s hand clenches around his lance but he is restrained as Chrom is because Robin is _right there,_ wishing he weren’t, and Chrom could be insensitive but there was a line. ‘Many saw his brand before you gifted him his gauntlets,’ Stahl says bleakly, apologetically.

Chrom might as well have swallowed ash. Chrom had known that Robin’s brand had been of some significance and yes, he’d gifted Robin his gauntlets while Lissa had gotten the gloves in an effort to try and outdo him, but it hadn’t had anything to do with shame or vanity. It was to avoid this type of baseless insinuations. Robin’s heritage was already apparent enough and caused enough controversy and although Chrom refused to acknowledge it, that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to know there was an issue.

Their relations with Plegia hadn’t always been poor and although they hadn’t always gotten on, there were times previously where their counties had shared a great friendship that Emm had attempted to remind people of. That they worshiped a different deity; that they were _marked_ differently, shouldn’t be the point of contention that it had become. 

Chrom didn’t need to say any of this, Stahl seemed to comprehend wordlessly. His knight was very intuitive, it was one of the things Chrom liked about him. ‘I don’t understand it either, Milord.’ Stahl shakes his head and further messes his hair as it settles into aneven more disordered heap of cowlicks. 

‘Please,’ Robin murmurs finally and he sounds weary, defeated. Chrom hates it. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t...say it’s ideal, but it is what it is. What they think of _you_ is more concerning.’

Touched but offended properly covered the feelings that sentence bought about. ‘I can’t do much about it at the minute,’ Chrom admits as he can tell Robin just wants him to let it go. ‘But once we return to Ylisse -’

‘ _Chrom_ -’  

‘It’s going to be addressed,’ he ploughs over any protests. Chrom wouldn’t have it. He just - wouldn’t. ‘After all, you’re going to be inducted into the court.’ They hadn’t spoken on the future in finalities, everything had just seemed too far away to risk it all to fate. Rather, they had talked in whispers on things they needed to do, things they’d plan to achieve. 

Stahl cooed as Robin floundered. ‘Does that mean I’ll have to call him “Lord Robin”?’ the knight grins a tad impishly, teasingly as he blinks at their tactician.

Chrom grins albeit weakly but Robin is already shaking his head. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he says with a edge that was a bit too sharp between friends. Robin seems to realise too, as he softens, embarrassed as he glances between Chrom and Stahl shortly. ‘I’ll always be Robin, to you at least if Chrom decides he wants to go through with it.’ 

‘I don’t plan on changing my mind,’ Chrom confirms because he knows Robin would not deny him. The tactician had promised to aid him and Naga knew how much Chrom needed him. ‘You did swear you’d carry me through this.’

‘Sully’s never going to let this go,’ Stahl grins awkwardly when the tension stretches weirdly. The knight was good at coming to Chrom’s aid. 

Robin snorts. ‘Don’t play innocent, Stahl. You and Sully wouldn’t have such a partnership if you weren’t -’ he stops, seems to realise that he has implied something deeper than he should of, which brings Chrom to a drawing realisation and Stahl bright pink. ‘I am sorry, Stahl.’ 

‘Ah ha,’ Stahl laughs as Robin tries to tear his lip in two. ‘Not - not to worry… _Lord_ Robin.’

Robin’s head snaps up and very slowly, as if the words just sunk in, he turns a dark rogue. Breath hitches in the tactician’s throat before he exhales in a truly exasperated fashion. ‘You two deserve each other.’ 

‘Thank you, Milord.’ Stahl winks cheekily as Robin groans.

Chrom muffles a laugh as he adjusts his hold on Robin and they continue back to camp, feeling affection for his men raise and knowing that he was truly fortunate for those who’d decided to follow him. 


	3. The Healer's Tent

‘Ah. Sir Stahl, you’ve escorted Prince Chrom and our dear tactician here?’

'Yes, Milady.'

‘Hiya, Stahl, did you - _Robin?!’_

‘What on _earth_ has befallen your face?!’

Stahl winced at the twin shouts of disconcertment when he’d stepped aside and allowed Prince Chrom and Robin through, holding open the tent flap for them. It was slow going for the two as Robin became more despondent, paler, as he allowed Prince Chrom to take on more and more of his weight. 

‘Lissa, darling, prepare if you would,’ Lady Maribelle asks in that strict way of her’s as she quickly deposited a phial back onto the bottom shelf of her medic trolley, and stood from her crouched position in front of it. Princess Lissa didn’t spend the time to respond as she hastened in her task. ‘Set him down, Milord. Quickly now.’ She gestured to the cot beside her and Stahl watched while supporting himself with his lance, as Prince Chrom nodded and gently helped Robin to sit on the edge of the cot’s frame.

Lady Maribelle didn’t waste any time in stepping up to Robin as Chrom made way for her, hovering worriedly to the man’s side instead. She scanned Robin’s face, tilting his profile by his chin as she examined his eyes, briefly checking his teeth before focusing on his nose. She runs a delicate finger down both sides of the bridge. ‘Not broken,’ she mutters with a sigh and then she’s moving on. ‘Sir Stahl, would you move that stool?’ 

Stahl jolts at being addressed but nods and absentmindedly passes his lance to Prince Chrom who was left fretting, before Robin rolled his eyes, caught hold of the prince’s arm and dragged him down to sit beside the tactician. The stool in question is not far as the tent isn’t that big, especially since more than half of its length was cordoned off with a curtain. This side was really only for the royals or for surgery if it were required. His strength, however, is limited from the day’s battle so the strain is abnormal to walk over, lift it and carry it back. 

He positions it for Lady Maribelle as Stahl understands that she must want it for Robin and his leg. He grabs a nearby pillow to rest it against the hard wooden seat. She spares him only a second for a thankful nod as she gently places her two dainty hands underneath Robin’s injured leg, one underneath his knee and the other, his ankle. ‘Grit your teeth if you need to,’ Lady Maribelle says and then lifts his leg to rest on top of the pillow.

The pain is obviously as Robin gasps out before desperately attempting those vain sounds. It always - hurts to have to experience a friend suffering. ‘Maribelle -’ Prince Chrom begins, pale as he takes one of Robin’s clenched hands into his own, shifting so that Robin has something to lean against.

‘Has to be done, Milord. Elevation is key,’ Lady Maribelle interrupts primly as she stares at Robin’s already exposed leg before she addresses the tactician. ‘Robin, on a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst pain you have ever felt, where are you?’ 

Robin’s mouth trembles. It is no surprise that he would be reluctant with Prince Chrom watching like he is. ‘Eight,’ he admits in a strangled voice. 

Lady Maribelle’s lips thin. ‘Are you nauseous? Do you feel dizzy?’

‘Headache,’ Robin responds through grinding teeth. ‘No…sickness but I - I am lightheaded, now.’ 

Robin and headaches were par for the course. Stahl wasn’t sure why; some episodes were so severe that it affected Robin’s vision, impacted his balance. Sometimes he’d be unable to endure light or noise. Stahl worried that it was some kind of illness and it had some connection to Robin’s amnesia. He had sent a letter home to ask after medicines for some of Robin’s symptoms but he had yet to get a reply. 

‘He was using Thoron,’ Prince Chrom interjects with a soft voice that didn’t once dispel his visceral concern. ‘His sword was shattered early on so he…properly used it more than he would have.’

Lady Maribelle wets her lips as she glances between them as Robin nods in acknowledgement. ‘Of course,’ she sighs. ‘That does tend to wear Mages out.’ 

Robin wasn’t quite a Mage but he was good at knowing his limit with mana and since he was also talented with a blade, he’d simply switch once he thought he’d reach it. (Of course, that was also dependant on his opponent). Miriel could be more - reckless, but only when she was in pursuit of knowledge and she was conducting her experiments. Ricken was the most careless with his desire to be useful.

Not that Robin was perfect with his restraint. In an act of desperation or an unplanned retaliation, he would overextend himself and then need to breathe to get back his strength. Honestly, Robin was very good at seeming in control before surprising you by doing something truly ridiculous.

Lady Maribelle was right to be worried about internal bleeding and trauma with how worse for wear Robin was, however she seemed appeased. ‘On to your foot…’ Lady Maribelle frowns as she crouches next to Robin’s mess of a leg.

Robin’s boot had been apparently difficult to cut off and it had been swollen to a degree that it couldn’t be removed by simply pulling it off. Slashing through the toughened leather trapping Robin’s injury Stahl imagined, was probably one of the most stressful thing Prince Chrom had ever done, but they said Princess Lissa had insisted before she’d allowed him to move. 

Stahl wasn’t a healer but you didn’t get this far into a conflict and not pick anything up. She’d probably been worried about blood flow and Robin’s circulation being cut off. It also saved time for Lady Maribelle how didn’t even have to worry about rolling up Robin’s trousers. The deformed, bruised ankle was out in the open and visible for anyone to see.

Lady Maribelle was slow but firm as she started to touch points of Robin’s foot and leg. Robin, himself, swallows a whine but can’t seem to stop the stifled cries. He’s blinking back tears when Lady Maribelle asks: ‘could you put any pressure on this afterwards?’

‘Was - I was fighting on it for - for a part of the battle,’ Robin manages to reply as he wilts more into Chrom’s side, not quite having the power to keep himself upright any longer. Stahl, a mounted fighter, had never known a leg injury besides sores or cramps. His most serious injury involving his ankle was when he sprained it after his horse had perished to a Beast Killer.

He’d been fine but his foot had gotten stuck in the saddle as Marvel had fallen and he’d had to wrench it out to parry another attack. Fighting on an injury like Robin’s - well, it beggared belief, really.

‘And when the adrenaline faded?’ Lady Maribelle followed up rather pointedly, looking not at all impressed. 

‘I could,’ Robin replies but the stubbornness is dimming.

‘He would have walked back if I had let him,’ Prince Chrom confirms tightly.

Lady Maribelle exhales deeply though there is something relieved about her eyes. ‘For future reference, Robin, when your ankle has swollen twice its size, it is not recommended to continue to put pressure on it,’ she informs cooly. ‘However, that you _can_ is indeed good news.’

Prince Chrom slumps slightly. ‘So, then -’

‘Ankles are finicky things, Milord. I wouldn’t be too happy just yet,’ Lady Maribelle says gently though it is in warning as her hands leave Robin’s skin. ‘Robin seems to have dislocated his ankle joint but I am unsure if this is due to a fracture forcing it out of place.’

Stahl swallows roughly. Flesh wounds, burns; these, however bad, are usually pretty simple to heal with the right staff, tonic or potion. Broken bones were another thing altogether. You could manipulate a bone back into place - if needed - and encourage the breaks to heal but it took time that not a lot of people had. There were risks of damaged nerves and ligaments and even internal bleeding. Their medicine, how it was, could do little for them. 

The war was ending now so there was _time_ but Robin was also a solider; their tactician and broken bones and a tendency to _break again._ Invasive treatment like surgery was there and it didn’t always work. It was so _easy_ for a person to become lame or - or require an amputation because of a broken bone and for Robin, that’d be devastating.

‘Do you know if you have ever done any previous damage to this leg, Robin?’ Lady Maribelle asks as Prince Chrom seems to digest the new possibility that Robin might be in quite a bit of trouble. It looked like someone had had taken a knife to his side. 

Robin’s eyes clench shut for a moment. ‘No,’ he replies after he falters.

Lady Maribelle inclines her head, not at all surprised. ‘Lissa,’ she calls. ‘Are you finished?’ 

‘Er…yeah, I think so.’ Princess Lissa jumps up from the floor not far from them. She carries over her staff and rushes to them, ungracefully dropping down by Lady Maribelle’s side in front of Robin’s foot. ‘Okay, Robby. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right spell but you won’t get any feedback if it doesn’t work,’ the princess promises with a smile that was darker than was common.

Robin tries to shift but ends up ousting himself as he stares down to Princess Lissa and Lady Maribelle. Bitting viciously on his lip, Robin nods. ‘Of course,’ he breathes. Prince Chrom wordlessly hands Stahl’s lance bak as he moves so that his arm can curl around Robin’s waist, cautiously manoeuvring them so that Robin can get more comfortable for whatever they were about to do.

Princess Lissa nods, seems to steal all the air in the room as she readies her staff. Stahl did not have any potential for magic but he had been around it enough to recognise the subtle shifts in the atmosphere to feel it, to taste it. _‘Asmeagan Aeghwaes,’_ Princess Lissa chants with a voice that was strong and firm.

The crystal woven on top of her staff - its conduit - starts to shine. The glow hits Robin’s leg and in an instance his skin becomes translucent. Stahl blinks and he is looking into what was the inside of Robin’s toes, all the way up to his kneecap. It…was very disturbing, and focusses his attention on the people around him instead.

‘Impressive, darling,’ Lady Maribelle says in hushes praise though her eyes are pinned on Robin’s leg, intense and gleaming in the light of Lissa’s staff. She hums in contemplation as they both inspect the structure of his bones. ‘Odd, though…do you…?’

Lissa shakes her head. ‘Robin, are you able to shift onto your side for us?’

Robin swallows, glancing up to Prince Chrom. ‘Can - can you -?’ The prince nods as he helps the tactician to move. It wasn’t easy and the process hurts Robin quite a bit but they get there. 'T-Thanks.’

‘Ah.’ Princess Lissa winces. ‘There it is; the tibia.’ 

‘Drat,’ Lady Maribelle hisses as her nose wrinkles. ‘And the fibula. Typical.’ 

‘What’s going on?’ Prince Chrom interrupts nervously. 

‘A break, sire,’ Lady Maribelle informs gravely and Stahl’s stomach instantly drops. Prince Chrom’s face seems to collapse in on itself. ‘I believe this is the posterior malleolus fracture which means the tibia - or the shinbone - is fractured and, unfortunately…like in most cases, the fibula has also been broken.’ 

‘Luckily, the ankle seems to be in place,’ Lissa states but her voice is unsteady. ‘So we won’t need to manipulate it back into place. It’s just swollen, probably to protect itself.’ 

Stahl watches Prince Chrom carefully. ‘Meaning?’ the prince asks thickly, his arm reflexively tightening around Robin who seemed numb in shock, as he stares down to his leg. 

Lady Maribelle and Princess Lissa glance to each other, as the light from the princess’ staff dies and the skin of Robin’s leg becomes solid once more. ‘His ankle _is_ stable,’ the princess asserts to Lady Maribelle.

Lady Maribelle’s lips purse but after a moment, she nods and turns to look at Chrom. ‘Luckily, Sire there is no dislocation like what was first assumed, however -’

‘Your ankle is stable, Robin,’ Princess Lissa cuts in with her repetition as she reaches out to grip hold of Robin’s uninjured knee. ‘It - that… _is_ the luckiest thing about your leg, but - we’re going to get through this. Okay?’ 

Robin forces his eyes open, breathing heavily out of his nose for a moment as he gazes at Princess Lissa. He was no doubt observing her desperation as he silently assents. ‘Okay,’ he agrees weakly though Stahl could tell he believed it very little. 

Princess Lissa was an optimist but she had also seen war; she had learnt better. This, however, seemed to be something she _needed._ She _needed_ Robin to get better even if that meant to suspend her disbelief to _try._ It wasn’t…a good feeling, for Stahl to realise. Lady Maribelle was silent for these moments were Princess Lissa tried and failed to smile, watching the whole thing in resignation. 

‘You look like you need something for the pain.’ The Lady Maribelle reaches over to the trey and pulls off one of many phials to hand over to Prince Chrom. ‘Take - all of it.’

Prince Chrom uncorks it with his teeth and for once, Lady Maribelle doesn’t comment on the impropriety even if she does cringe. He is gentle when he coaxes Robin to drink and they wait for the tactician to down the liquid. ‘The bone displacement isn’t…much of a concern at the moment so we’ll cast and brace the leg to make sure the fracture isn’t further displaced, however, I must insist that no weight is to be put through this leg for at _least_ six weeks.’ Lady Maribelle’s words are tense, _she_ is tense. ‘I cannot express the importance of this.’ 

‘Six?’ Prince Chrom exclaims as Robin’s head drops against his shoulder. ‘We’re so far from home; It’s going to take over two weeks just to get to Ferox -’

‘I know,’ the princess murmurs. ‘But, Chrom, this leg - Robin can’t walk on it. He can’t _jostle_ it. We have to be so, so careful now otherwise…otherwise he’ll need surgery Chrom and, if that doesn’t -’

‘What my dearest means, is that there is a great risk that Robin could lose his leg,’ Lady Maribelle intervenes when the princess starts to stumble over herself, as she places a hand onto her friend’s trembling shoulder. ‘Amputation is a real possibility. This leg _must_ be treated with the utmost care.’

Prince Chrom slowly looks to Robin, like he’d learnt to do because Robin had proven to be there when needed. And just like every other time, Robin saw what Prince Chrom wanted without a word needing to be spoken. ‘If I travelled to Ferox by air instead of with our ground troops, than I might reduce any damage to my leg and I’ll…I’ll stay off of it as much as I can.’ 

‘You’ll have to stay off of it completely,’ Lady Maribelle states. ‘A crutch won’t be enough to protect it. You’ll have to push your pride aside and be carried to wherever it is you need to go until you are given the all clear to weight bear.’ 

Prince Chrom stares at Robin, appearing to hesitate on what to say. Stahl can all but see the bridges that had yet to be crossed for the two of them. ‘Robin,’ he murmurs. ‘I know how you are but, please, this once…’

‘We have _weeks_ of travelling, Chrom.’ Robin’s voice is miserable as Stahl had ever heard it, on the cusp of breaking, so wet he was surprised that the tears hadn’t already fallen.

‘I can’t watch you hurt yourself. You must understand this.’ Prince Chrom expression is tremulous and the way he holds onto Robin is like he’s afraid that Robin will disappear right in front of him. ‘Right?’

Robin doesn’t answer straight away but when he does, it’s like the response has been ripped from his throat. ‘Yes, I’m not good to anyone crippled.’ Regret crashes on Robin’s face as soon as the words are out as he frustratedly tugs on the length of his hair. It had grown since the tactician had first joined them, changing from those short, somewhat spiky tresses that Stahl had first seen to something smoother, almost gentler. It reached his collarbone in places though it seemed to have happened because the man never had time to bother with a haircut. 

(The one occasion he had taken scissors to his own head after a number of people mentioning it, it had become an unspoken agreement to never allow it to happen again. Though Vaike had found the whole thing hilarious, it was just as well that Robin’s hair wasn’t that slow to grow.)

Stahl’s heart squeezes at Robin’s choice of words because he knew that the man thought little of himself, but it was another thing entirely to _hear_ it. In reaction, Prince Chrom’s eyes widen and a look of horror transforms in his face. ‘That’s not what I meant at all, Robin. You could have no limbs at alland I’d still -’ he stops suddenly from what seemed to be the start of a strong rant, pausing to recollect himself before continuing slower, but with the same amount of conviction.

‘Robin, I want you to be well. I don’t like seeing you hurt. I’ve…already lost too much with - with Emm, I can’t do it, not again -’

‘Stop.’ Robin’s voice is as sharp as a blade even if he wields it unsteadily. ‘I - I’ll misunderstand.’ 

‘Misunderstand?’ Prince Chrom repeats with eyes wide in confusion as Robin starts to pull again, not just emotionally but physically too.

‘You - you -’ Robin stumbles with words, can’t seem to pin them down or can but can’t regulate them properly. ‘You have to leave,’ he finally gasps out.

‘What?’ Prince Chrom reels back like Robin had just slapped him across the face. ‘I can’t just -’

‘You have things to attend to, Chrom,’ Robin says as his right hands digs into one of his buckles. His fingers are almost white as the flex against that ridiculous belt. Stahl still vividly remembers that it’d once stopped an attack from a lance with only serious bruising, Naga only knew what it was made out of. 

(Stahl used the word “only” because at the time the lance’s shaft had broken on impact with Robin’s middle and it’d looked like, when Robin hit the ground unconscious with the half the blade appearing to be jutting out of his stomach, that he’d been run through. He’d never forget Prince Chrom’s scream.)

‘Robin,’ Prince Chrom starts pleadingly. ‘Please, allow me -’

‘Chrom, you are our leader and you’ve stayed to see the worst of my injuries. You are leaving me in capable hands, but you have more important things that need your attention, like getting an accord with Flavia and setting up the patrols with Frederick before nightfall.’ Robin keeps his gaze firmly planted in the opposite corner of the room as he speaks. ‘I’ll - I’ll still be here, if you wish to return, afterwards.’ 

Something about Chrom’s eyes shatter and he hopelessly hesitates before he finally starts to move and untangles himself from Robin. He separates them because Robin has asked but he still reaches out again, tentatively. ‘I…do not wish to leave you on your own,’ he says with sincerity but also clear longing as he looks upon Robin’s face as he stalls at the edge of the cot.

Stahl clears his throat, can’t help but feel that this was a personal moment between the two of them. ‘Prince Chrom? I would be able to…stand guard, while you finish up.’ Stahl volunteers this as a peace offering, though Prince Chrom simply wished to _be here_ and it had little to do with security _._

Prince Chrom shifts to look at him and Stahl fights any outward reaction at the prince’s restlessness. ‘I…’ 

‘Please,’ Robin whispers finally.

Prince Chrom stands and starts to walk to the tent flaps. ‘Take care of him,’ he orders quietly and Stahl nods. ‘I’ll…be back,’ he says to Robin before he’s left to silence

Robin slumps and Princess Lissa is quick to spring up and catch hold of one of his shoulders and attempts to get Robin into a better position on the cot. ‘It might’ve been prudent to at least say goodbye, Robin,’ Maribelle chides while shaking her head. ‘I’ll let his leg if you help him back, dear.’ 

Princess Lissa nods and they both aid him to lay properly on the cot now his support was gone. Robin cries out but doesn’t complain as Princess Lissa quietly hushes him. They both manage it, though it requires a bit of concentrate.

‘Chrom’s gonna be upset about that,’ Princess Lissa says once Robin is situated and Lady Maribelle reaches at the top of her trolley for a clean cloth. The water bowl next it is still steaming from the runes craved into and she dips the rag into the water. 

‘I didn’t want to,’ Robin states through his teeth as Lady Maribelle starts to gently clean his leg. Though she was known for being proper, Stahl had always liked that she was also never afraid to do what she had to. Even if that meant getting her hands dirty. It spoke of her character even if her nose tended to look down on people it shouldn’t, and she lost some of her compassion because her life had been sweetened through her own good circumstance.

‘Why ever not?’ Lady Maribelle asks as she finishes up and Princess Lissa takes over to dry Robin’s skin with another cloth. It was obvious it was hurting Robin but it was necessary and they were as gentle as they could be.

‘Because I didn’t want him to leave,’ Robin grits out in embarrassment while Lady Maribelle reaches for a small pot that she opens to reveal cream, that she dunks her fingers inside and starts to sooth over Robin’s ankle right up to his knee in efficient motions. 

Lady Maribelle halts at his response, glancing up from her work to look at Robin’s flushed cheeks and the frustrated line of his mouth. ‘Lissa, dear, this is worse than you described.’

Princess Lissa huffed. ‘I was _trying_ to be tactful,’ she mutters as she walks away to gather some materials.

Lady Maribelle frowns at that but Stahl has never seen her turn that sharp tongue on Princess Lissa, and she doesn’t start now. With a deep sigh, she readdresses Robin who looks like he’d prefer it if he remained ignored. ‘What, exactly, would have been the harm in Prince Chrom knowing that? I think he’d have much preferred that sentiment over your silence.’

‘But then he wouldn’t have left,’ Robin responds while Stahl wonders if he should intervene. He’s never quite sure on his place and it makes him second guess himself. ‘And he needed to. Chrom was - has duties. He doesn’t me holding him back or the criticism he’d get if anyone found out.’ 

‘And you were worried over what you were going to say with where that conversation was going and needed to get rid of the recipient,’ Lady Maribelle states with a hawk like gaze. Stahl sort of pities anyone who would take the long thick curls, the frills and the pink as weakness and think to underestimate Lady Maribelle.

Robin swallows with some difficulty. ‘Yes.’

‘It seems though you cannot lie, you are still good at hiding what you mean,’ Lady Maribelle says with disapproval. ‘I’ve just put cooling cream on your leg. It should aid the swelling. I will also insist that you not move until we march to Ferox and that you keep your leg still and elevated. If you need anything you must ask to avoid further injury.’ 

Princess Lissa brings over some wrappings, and with Lady Maribelle’s aid, the begin to encase Robin’s leg. ‘You shouldn’t worry so much over what you say, Robby,’ the princess sighs.

‘Lissa, I’d much prefer not to lose something -’

‘There is nothing you could tell my bother that would make you lose him,’ Princess Lissa declares while Lady Maribelle ties off the bandage. The princess stands again, brushing off and flattening her skirt as she does. ‘I need to get that cast and brace, I’ll be back in a second,’ she informs them and leaves, ducking through the separation curtain and into the busier, loud other half of the tent.

Robin watches her with a melancholy look and Stahl has to stile a sigh. ‘Dear Lissa told me mentioned that you injured your side in the fray?’ Lady Maribelle asks in the silence, seemingly resigned to the atmosphere.

‘I had help,’ Robin retorted but helpfully untucked his shirt from underneath his belt and revealing to them skin that was shiny and very, very angry.

‘It appears so,’ Lady Maribelle frowns as she inspects the area, plodding it and enquiring at the pain. ‘Superficial damage, it seems. You’re lucky that it isn’t worse.’

‘My luck had to go somewhere,’ Robin grouses only to make a pained sound when Lady Maribelle pinches him. 

‘None of that,’ Lady Maribelle chides him. ‘Now, I’ll clean and wrap this but Lissa is right. Perhaps you should listen to her as I fear that you are letting yourself believe something that might be to the contrary.’

In the silence that these chastisements have created, Lady Maribelle treats and wraps Robin’s burn with Princess Lissa returning half way through with the supports their tactician’s leg will need. Robin does not respond to the hints given to him and instead allows himself to sink into his own fatigue, quietly accepting more pain medication that eventually has him asleep and pliant to the healer’s attentions. 

Stahl, himself, felt like he had bitten through his tongue with his indecision over speaking. He’d wanted to step in at points but had ended up stopping himself every time. He wasn’t stupid; he’d figured Prince Chrom and Robin out long into their campaign and it was for better or worse, a known secret amongst many but that didn’t mean any of them knew what to do with how much tiptoeing around the subject there was. 

Stahl’s brother just needed some gentle teasing, before he was ready to admit to himself that Bernadette was what he wanted, but desire didn’t seem to be the problem with these two. This secret seemed to be hurting more than it was protecting now, too. 

The Curse that their tactician had been afflicted with - although awful and quite harmful for someone like Robin, suddenly seemed…convenient. Convenient in that horrible way a lot of conveniences were. It could be the break these two needed, with a little help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! No surprise to anyone but I have no idea what I was talking about when it came to Robin's injuries so please excuse that. On another note, the reasons why a broken bone would be so serious is because asides from magic there isn't many advances in medicine and I'd guess - fantasy elements aside - that this would be just a little bit further on from the time period where they'd cut a hole in someone's head for repeated headaches. Even now, doctors struggle with ankle injuries so, yeah. 
> 
> Mistakes side, I hope you enjoy :) . I should be getting into more in the next chapter \\(' '\\)


	4. By Dragon Wings

‘Ah, Milord…are you alright?’

‘Boy, you’re looking pale there. You been seen to by a healer yet?’

Chrom had struggled to find his footing after he had left the healer’s tent and Robin behind. His legs felt weak and it was with difficulty that he had stumbled over Frederick, though the knight stood out even amount a sea of armoured troops. That Frederick was speaking with Basilio: a mountainof a man, who was as loud as a howling bear only aided him.

‘Fine, no. I don’t need one,’ Chrom replies as he wiped his sticky forehead, silently cursing the climate and its unforgiving sun. Few in their number had any resilience to Plegian weather. ‘Just, fine.’ He doesn’t want their concern, feels weaker for it though he knows he’s lying and not just because of the sunburn he may or may not have.

Frederick frowns and Basilio’s single eye pins him, gaze sharp. The Khan could laugh like a fool but he is a competent man and Chrom had been told before that he had an honest face. ‘Were you needing something, Milord?’ his knight finally asks.

Chrom shifts and tries to think about anything but Robin pulling away from him. ‘Robin is injured and has…sent me ahead,’ he manages finally. ‘Are we on task?’

They had been travelling for so long, with so many battles that their men were pretty independent when it came to returning to camp. There were a few times when either Robin or Chrom were unable to supervise, typically due to injury. Frederick was self-sufficient and easily went about the command’s business without them. Robin knew that. Robin -

‘What remains of our number are all accounted for, Milord,’ Frederick answers steadily. ‘Camp activity is on tack and we should be on schedule to march tomorrow.’ 

‘Ah.’ Right, Lissa had mentioned going to inform Frederick about their change of plans. Though “plans” was perhaps a strong word, better yet was an assumption based around his lack of foresight. ‘I haven’t even asked,’ Chrom says as he glances between the two men. ‘Will it be alright for us to join you in Ferox, to heal before going on our way to Ylisstol?’ 

Basilio snorts and claps Chrom on the shoulder with far too much strength. He has to steady himself against Frederick and is ready to ignore any worried expressions, as he keeps himself standing tall while trying not to give into exhaustion. ‘Boy, I went to war with you and that tactician of yours,’ like that was an indicator enough. ‘You’re welcome with us, of course. Flavia wouldn’t object, you and yours _are_ her champions, after all,’ he continues with a cheshire cat grin that reminded Chrom strangely of his sister, right when she was planning something wicked.

Chrom swallowed drill and chose the better part of valour and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he says, bowing his head as gratitude swells in his chest. It’s relief soothes the tension there, at least for a moment.

‘Speaking of tacticians, Milord,’ Frederick broaches the subject, easing into the conversation again with the practice that came from years of shadowing Chrom. ‘What is wrong with Robin?’

‘Lissa didn’t mention it?’ Chrom asks tiredly but the knight shakes his head. Lissa had probably been preoccupied and desperate to reach the Healer’s Tent before them. ‘I don’t really know where to start…’ he admits, truly just not wanting to talk about it at all. Robin had been hurt before, of course, once guarding Emm and in a number of skirmishes, a few battles, and every time it was like someone had run Chrom through.

‘Is it serious?’ Basilio’s expression flattens, brows knitting tightly as he as he gazed down at him, understanding the seriousness of the situation.

‘…yes,’ Chrom replies but the word is reluctant, like admitting it out loud makes it real. Neither of the khans had been stationed on the frontline, instead Robin had positioned them in their centre, making them the connection to their rear. The Khans’ had been surprised when Robin had briefed them though when it was explained, Chrom thought that they had secretly been quite flattered with the trust they had been given. 

‘Robin took a Curse for me,’ Chrom says because that was about the easiest thing to get out. ‘Tharja - a new recruit- is looking into it but for now, he is unable to lie.’

Frederick’s eyebrow shot up and Basilio’s jaw loosens in shock. ‘That is…Robin is in good spirits?’ His knight asks because though they had started off on rocky grounds, Frederick had generally gotten a grasp on who Robin is.

Chrom grimaces. ‘He’s also fractured his leg. Lissa says he needs six weeks but…I’m not sure how we’ll - he had other injuries too, but, he…asked me to leave.’ And that still hurts. Chrom hadn’t always done right by Robin; wasn’t always there for him like a friend should be, because other things got in the way, but they were close.

Frederick’s lips are tight. They all know how bad a break was, that it happened while they were so far from home exasperated the issue. They had no way to successfully handle the injury other than bind it which was largely unhelpful. ‘Does Robin have any way to aid him in travelling to Ferox?’ 

‘By air,’ Chrom replies. ‘Would you mind sorting that out with one of our men? Cordelia?’ Chrom knew they had very few air units. Emm’s pegasus knights were annihilated at the same time Emm - well. When she fell. Ylisse was know for its air troops but now they had not even a handful.

Frederick breathes a long, tired exhale; his version of a sigh. ‘Of course, Milord.’ Cordelia, too, was known for being something of a genius and Chrom trusted her as much as any other with Robin in the air.

‘Oh,’ Chrom mouths as he remembers something. ‘We also need to send a messenger to Ylisstol. Robin -’

‘Would suggest Sumia.’ Frederick nods. ‘Her standing would make her a better advocate than Cordelia and she has grown quite a bit in the campaign.’ Cordelia - a pegasus knight that Chrom knew quite distantly, was not entirely liked as the only surviving member of her sisterhood. Chrom was sympathetic to her, as her own tragedy was buried under the loss of their exalt. 

They had taken her in, welcomed her, with Robin most of all thankful to her addition. Grateful for the boost in mobility and skill even if they were criticised for keeping her. When Robin talked about superstition in regards to Cordelia it was because a majority found her unlucky, didn’t wish to fight with her, while other’s scorned her for not doing more.For not saving the others. 

Robin respected her for her courage, her will to keep fighting and that was enough for Chrom to weather the complaints, though the likelihood of him sending her away regardless would have been slim. Cordelia wasn’t at fault for what had happened that day.

Still. ‘Ask Sumia to double back to us?’ Chrom requests. They had lost enough soldiers and it made him feel - anxious to have one of their own away from the rest, though he would be eternally grateful that his Shepherds had been spared, were safe.

Frederick inclines his head. ‘Of course, Milord.’

Chrom swallows again, desperate for something to drink and to be out of this heat. He wanted nothing more than to be home, and truthfully, they needed to return; to reassure the people and put Council back in their place, and check on who they had placed as regent in Chrom’s absence, however, with Robin’s injury…taking time to allow it to heal would be best. The man, himself, had promised to try and take care of it but it wouldn’t be a priority to him.

‘Hey, hey. What’s with this heavy atmosphere?’ Flavia called as she strolled up to them, as strong and untouched by the battle as her fellow khan. A Feroxian soldier trails behind her, but Chrom only spares a moment to glance at the man. His concentration had never felt so pulled apart before with his thoughts back in that healer’s tent

‘Travel plans,’ Chrom replies as she comes to a stop at Basilio’s shoulder.

‘Chrom here wants to take us home,’ Basilio tells her as she blinks for a second.

Flavia shrugs. ‘Your route means little to me and you’re welcome to rest at Ferox but I would have thought you would want to get back as quickly as possible,’ she states as she shifts carefully.

‘Robin’s idea.’

Flavia smiles, snorting with amusement. ‘Robin, eh? A fine tactician. You better hold onto that one, Chrom.’ She smirks, stabbing him in the chest with her forefinger. ‘Speaking of which, were is he? I’d expect him to be keeping on an eye on you.’

Chrom feels himself flush in discomfort. After Emm, he and Robin had been seldom apart. The reasons that kept them together were far reaching but even without their joint responsibility or their lack in faith in their ability to take care of themselves, Chrom would still want to be beside him, though.

‘It seems he has been injured,’ Frederick responds when Chrom lags, perhaps more tired than he realised. Or just plain distracted.

Flavia tilts her head, surprise briefly taking over her expression. Chrom knows why, Robin always seems sensible and although he is reliable in battle (he’d do anything to protect his allies) he’s a menace, jumping into peril, taking ridiculous risks and pulling absolutely deranged stunts for strategy. Though not all serious, Robin had taken on quite a few injuries in their time together. Chrom’s heart has had quite the exercise during.

‘Serious?’ Which is always the question. Chrom’s head feels twice as heavy as he nods his confirmation. Flavia settles into something less jovial, lips pressing together. ’Huh. Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with him?’

Chrom’s mouth so dry from the heat and it feels like he’s been eating send with the grit in his teeth and the numbness of his tongue. ‘He -’ he clears his throat. ‘Robin sent me to…check on things.’

‘Well, you checked on them,’ Flavia states as she crosses her arms over her chest plate. It was a gesture similar to what Chrom would see from Lissa, only it bared no resemblance to a girl who favoured pigtails, that had not yet reached her majority. The stubbornness, on the other hand, was comparable. ‘Everything’s still standing so go back. It looks like a strong breeze could knock you over anyway, you’re not needed here.’

Chrom hesitates even if he’s mentally already half why back to the healer's tent. ‘Robin said he wanted me to leave,’ he’s said this more than once now and ever time it hurts. All this time, through war, conflict, loss…not his longest relationship but his closest. His dearest. So, maybe it was an overreaction, maybe he was being sensitive…

Basilio scoffs loudly. ‘Get movin’, boy,’ he demands, making shooing motions with his hands. ‘We’re capable of going on without you.’

Flavia slaps Chrom slaps him on the back right on the sunburn over his shoulders. He clenches his jaw to avoid embarrassing himself any further. ‘A Master Tactician, your birdie is, but he’s smitten so don’t worry the small things. Just get over there, no need to complicate it.’

_Smitten_? Chrom doesn’t want to understand as much as he does.

‘I shall handle the speech to the men, if you’ll allow it, Milord,’ Frederick volunteers with that typical smile of his on his lips that truly booked no choice for arguments.

Chrom huffs but with a nod he turns back. He was a bit far from the healer's tent or at least not close enough to avoid thought so by the time he was pushing back the tent flap, Chrom was nervous and wondering how much of a mouthful Robin was going to give him.

Prince Chrom,’ Stahl greets, standing uneasily from where he had been sat beside Robin’s cot. His knight doesn’t sound surprised to see him and smiles as Chrom nears.

‘Stahl,’ Chrom returns only stopping short as he glances to Robin, expecting to see unimpressed eyes, not a man deep in sleep. Chrom double takes and inches to sit on the edge of the cot, careful not to disturb Robin whose head was propped on a couple of pillows, right arm limply resting across his bandaged torso, a blanket crumbled by his waist with his injured leg free and now properly supported and alleviated.

Chrom listens to Robin’s breathing, deep and exhausted. The slow rise and fall of his chest is almost hypnotic as Chrom pulls off the glove to his dominate hand to reach out and lightly brush a few longer strands off of Robin’s face. His fingers smooth down Robin’s warm cheek, wondering, for a moment.

‘Lady Maribelle decided to put him to sleep to keep him relaxed for when they braced his leg,’ Stahl says quietly, attentively trying not to interrupt or disturb. Chrom nods, watching Robin for a minute longer before looking up to his knight’s serene but pale face. 

‘My sister and Maribelle?’ he asks quietly.

‘They left me to watch him once they were finished,’ Stahl replies, eyes directing themselves to the other half of the tent where they had probably gone to help Libra. ‘Princess Lissa said she would return later with something for the pain when Robin’s due to wake up.’

Chrom sighs. Their supplies were limited with Robin handling their meagre finances. The Court was tightfisted and difficult when it came to sending them money or resources and Robin had taken over from Chrom in fighting with them about it. (Their heads had gotten too big and Chrom knew he would have to do something about it). It meant though, carefully using their supplies. Pain medicines were always in demand and diminishing which meant that their healer’s could only really give them out if the need was pressing.

It said a lot about the level of Robin’s torment. Chrom’s stomach tightened, Robin’s tanned skin was an ill pallor like a washed-out painting and even lax in sleep, there was a tightness about his eyes that spoke volumes.

‘Milord?’ Stahl enquires softly.

‘Sorry,’ Chrom breaths. Stahl seemed tired too, still in his armour, dirty from battle, fatigued and here like he had said he would be. ‘I can take over now, Stahl. Go get washed up and grab something to eat. They should start cooking soon.’

Stahl’s expression eases somewhat. ‘Thank you, Prince Chrom. Should I return tomorrow?’

Chrom’s immediate response was “no, that’s alright” but after a moment, he agrees. Robin needed someone to keep an eye on him if he was trying to have some space from Chrom. Besides, an attendant would probably be appropriate if things worked out though hope was but a seedling in his heart.

‘Alright, Milord. I’ll see you in the morn,’ Stahl says as he takes his leave with every step heavier than the last.

Chrom slumps, hand ruffling through his hair. He needed to pay more attention, he couldn’t hurt allies through neglect. The men and women who had stood by him and had come all this way with him deserved better than that. Making peace would show his thanks, appreciation would have to come through trying his best to rule, to prove that all of this was worth it.

‘I guess it would defeat the purpose if I were to ask you to help me with that.’ Chrom snorts, resting his cheek onto his gloved hand as he gazes at Robin’s sleeping face. A smile presses against his lips for a minute even if guilt weighs on his shoulders. ‘Though you did promise me…to help me be better.’

Robin had promised a lot and there was never a time when he had gone back on his word but the war was done now, and with Robin already having gifted so much, Chrom was concerned that Robin would leave maybe to try a connection to his past. That Robin had so much to offer just made Chrom want to cling tighter.

Chrom’s hand finds its way back to Robin’s hair. Robin had impressed him and then inspired him and after all that, rallied him when Chrom was at his absolute lowest. It was not an exaggeration that if not for Robin and his willingness to support Chrom, then the course of the war would have turned out very differently. But Robin could have none of his tactical genius, none of that intellect and Chrom would still be desperate to have Robin stay. Stay with him.

Chrom huffs, mesmerised with the feel of Robin’s hair. ‘What’re you doing to me?’

‘I think that would be obvious,’ a voice declares so suddenly that Chrom’s surprised his heart doesn’t jump out of his throat. Tharja saunters through the tent flap, arms full with books that she discards carelessly on the floor. Her eyes - dark as night and just as ominous - stare at him like she’s looking through him.

‘Ah…Tharja, have you found something?’ Chrom asks as he ignores her abrupt entrance. Her obsession with Robin early on in her employment made him somewhat wary, her being a dark mage notwithstanding, but he also trusted her. 

Tharja shrugs her cloaked shoulders, the material doesn’t so much as bunch as the ends dance around her ankles. ’I’ve looked through some counter-curses but they all involve a sacrifice,’ she responds. ‘I thought I should ask before I waste my time reading through Theban: will I be welcome in Ylisse?’

‘What -?’ Chrom attempts to get out in shock.

‘I’m not stupid. You’ve just won a war against Plegia; spirits will be high but I don’t suspect tolerance between neighbours to improve. This is going to take time, resources and you’ll owe me a favour but I’m not about to risk my neck -’

‘Tharja, you agreed to stand at my back,’ Chrom inserts with a tight throat. One day this wouldn’t matter. This shouldn’t have _ever_ gotten to this point - ‘I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t prepared to stand at yours.’

Tharja stares at him for a moment longer before she scoffs. ‘What a naive prince.’ She sneers but he’s heard it all before from people he cared a lot more about, and wasn’t about to let that sting. ‘How he puts up with you…’ She shakes her head, her long hair whipping about her shoulders.

'He?’ Chrom asks with a tilted head.

‘Robin.’ Tharja crosses her arms over her chest with narrowed eyes. ‘I’m surprised he allows such foolishness.’

Chrom swallows uneasily. Robin had warned him before. ‘I bear no grudge against Plegians. Emm’s always wanted peace and although I don’t always think it’s possible, that doesn’t mean I don’t want it too.’

‘Oh? Strong words, Princeling.’ Tharja steps forward, anklets clinking as she moves. ‘Tell me, Robin seems like a good, useful tactician now but when he is not so needed, what will you say if his Plegian colourings offend someone? What if he responds to his mother tongue? What will you do, Scion of Naga, eindama tabdu al'asdiqa' mithl al’aeda?’

Learning Plegian used to be common practice for diplomats (and few others) before the war - before conflict - got in the way of communicating. Knowing how to speak to one another was no longer seemed too important but Chrom had begun his lessons and remembered enough from his father’s prisoners, to understand the word for “enemies” even though there had been many spat in angry, hate, fear.

‘I expect Robin to offend people.' Because Robins smart, he was brilliant Chrom was almost looking forward to ruffling a few feathers. 'I’m pretty sure if you’re willing to come with us to Ylisstol, that you’ll _try_. I don’t care. I can’t make you believe me if you don’t want to trust me. I honestly don’t know what’s made you follow us this far, but if nothing else, Robin is…a treasure. He could be sent to us from Grima himself and as long as he stayed with me I wouldn’t care.’

Tharja’s shoulders tense. ‘You speak of the Fell Dragon easily, I’m not sure if that’s ignorance or arrogance.’

‘Will you stick around to find out?’ Chrom asks lightly.

Tharja’s heavy bangs hang lowly to cover her eyes as she ducks her head. ‘You better be prepared to face the consequences of wanting to keep so many Plegian’s around you.’

Chrom smiles. ‘I doubt I’ll regret it.’

Tharja clicks her tongue as she turns to leave without a goodbye or her books. ‘Yeah? I wouldn’t speak so soon if I were you, Princeling.’

‘Tharja.’ Chrom calls as she pushes the tent flap out of the way. ‘For your support and your help…Shokran Gidan.’

Tharja’s face morphs into surprise just in time for the tent flap to close in front of her. Chrom just hopes he had said that right. Tharja didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humour and although she was new, he had already heard reports that she was quite revengeful, threatening to curse people, without a hint of patience.

Chrom settles down again into the hushed noises of the evening, the heat and his own exhaustion. The following day, Chrom is just as tired and sore as he aided the effort to pack. Once they were ready to march and the Khans' with Frederick’s help was preparing to leave, he joined Robin who he had left with Stahl early in the morning. His tactician was accompanied by by two others: Sully and Maribelle who was most likely supervising the injury while already mounted and waiting.

‘Robin.’ Chrom smiles to his friend who is leant up again a rather large rock, completely off of his left side with Stahl firm at his right.

‘Chrom,’ Robin returns softly. ‘Did you get _any_ sleep last night?’

Sully snorts in amusement. ‘Yeah, Captain, looking a bit unsteady there.’

Chrom sighs but refuses to rise to her. ‘I got some,’ he replies. ‘Do you know what Frederick’s done for your ride to Ferox?’

Robin was just in the process of raising his shoulders which were absent from his robes, probably packed away with his other belongings since it was ripped when Chrom was pounced on from behind. ‘He can’t answer you but I can!’was said by who could only be Nowi into his ear.

Robin’s eyes are suddenly very wide as he stares at her. ‘You can’t mean -’

‘Freddy said that Robin had got a really bad owie! Cordy wanted to help, but you wouldn’t be able to properly mount her pegasus and she realised you can’t ride sidesaddle cuz it’s not safe,’ Nowi says as she manoeuvres herself to his shoulders just to slide down Chrom’s front. ‘So you can ride with me instead! I promise not to drop you!’

‘Drat,’ Robin curses, tugging at his hair as he looks up to the sky as if asking Naga herself why his luck was awful.

‘Wait.’ Chrom holds up his hands as he mentally repeats what Nowi just said. ‘Do you mean…’

‘I’ll transform into a dragon and carry Robin there,’ Nowi states for him.

Chrom stops himself from cringing. Nowi - even without transforming - could be quite unpredictable but he was never entirely sure how much control she had over herself when she was in her dragon form. ‘Can - can your arms carry him?’

Nowi nods firmly as she pumps one of her slender, child-shaped arms. ‘Un! I’m _super_ strong!’ she reassures before her bright eyes take on a firmer edge. ‘Robin’s safe with me. I can do it.’

Chrom…doesn’t know what to say to that. He glances to Robin, silently asking what he wants to do but there is a decidedly resigned look about the tactician now as he blows his hair from his face. ‘…Alright, I’m in your care,’ Robin agrees though Chrom can see his uncertainty.

‘You won’t regret it!’ she exclaims as she pulls her Dragonstone from inside her cloak.

Robin glances at Chrom. ‘I’ll…see you there.’

Chrom nods and squeezes Robin’s shoulder. ‘Don’t get lost,’ he jokes finally while sending a silent prayer that this ends alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Eindama tabdu al'asdiqa' mithl al’aeda?" is meant to mean 'when you see friends as enemies.' 
> 
> "Shokran Gidan" is 'thanks a lot'
> 
> I...think. If I'm wrong then let me know. Google has burned me before. By the way since I'm using a language for a fake one I figured it wouldn't matter if I mixed and matched a bit so the chances of me sticking purely to Arabic is really small...and not that important since it's not going to be playing a huge part in the story.


	5. Night Flight

‘So how’re you liking flying, Robin?’ 

‘It’s very…high,’ Robin replied over the rush of the wind.

‘That’s the whole point, silly!’

Robin was small and fragile in her arms. Breakable but trusting as he allowed her to pick him up; to manoeuvre him against her chestplate of toughened dragon-skin. He allows her talons to rest against him when she could pierce through him easily and when her wings beat, the air swirls and she lifts into the skies, Robin merely presses closer and grasps on tighter to her arm.

Robin was a human. Humans didn’t tend to like anything that was different from themselves, and when they did it was because it was useful. Nowi could be useful but she was also _dangerous._ Of course, all Robin had seen when he had run to save her that day was a little girl being chased, not an animal to be hunted, and when she had been forced to transform and his heart rate had spiked - he hadn’t gone on to treat her as anything lesser.

Nowi didn’t have anyone - not anymore - and she had no where to go but she still thinks, even if she did that she would have followed Chrom and his Shepherds regardless. She hadn’t had much luck with humans before now, especially not from the ones she had been escaping; the ones that had taken her freedom, her humanity and had chained her and _hurt_ her. Nowi had faith in these men and women though.

Robin was particularly kind to her but then he seemed to take it as his job to look after everyone, no matter how rundown that made him. His days were spread thin between taking care of people and plotting their battles so Nowi didn’t get much of his time, but when he sought her out, she was always happy to include him.

(Nowi knew better than to make him play house like she had with Lon’qu, too, so instead she learnt. It was small things, like how to make a leaf a whistle, the basics of cooking, how to catch a fish, how to throw a rock at a target…)

Robin always seemed…safe, to Nowi. She felt a comradeship with him since she had recognised something in him as soon as they had met. From whispers Nowi had known that Robin didn’t have a memory beyond meeting Chrom, had no past, no home. Nowi remembered more of her thousand years than she cared to recall but she didn’t have a family anymore, or friends and had no place to go either. They also both struggled through their scarcity; their lack of knowledge with the simple things every person knew from growing up.

It eased Nowi into the Shepherds; allowed her to feel…normal. Or as normal as a girl that didn’t grow, who could turn into a dragon could. Not that Chrom’s army wasn’t full of unusual people, because it was. From weird mages who liked to hex people, to maid like knights, it was full of characters that enabled Nowi to be one of many.

That wasn’t a sentiment that Nowi could have expressed before and now she could and she had a human in her arms and somewhere to _go._ Her lifespan meant the time she shared with her new friends would be brief and it would hurt when they left her, however it ended but it was better to have had and experienced than to never have had at all.

Now that the fighting was over, things would settle down; the risk of Nowi losing someone she had come to care for lessened.

‘It’s so free up here,’ Nowi murmurs lowly, allowing the words to role through her armoured chest.

‘I’ve always found it unnerving,’ Robin responds, luckily Nowi’s hearing is super-duper good, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to hear him above the wind and the flapping of her wings.

‘Oh? Why’s that?’ Nowi asks in interest, Robin always had something good to say even if it was just a cool drinking song. 

‘Airborne units are the hardest to anticipate. With ground units, they’re always restricted with terrain and the borders of their army and ours. A pegasus knight really only has to worry about long-ranged fighters and even _then,_ that’s just when they’re going into range of them. I hate having to plan for them.’

‘Huh.’ Nowi blinks her third eyelid as the air dries them out and the familiar pebbly-thing started to clog her sight. ‘I didn’t even think about that! That must be _really_ hard. Is it the same for when I’m fighting?’

Robin’s eyes are fixedly staring at Nowi’s face, leaning as close to her body as possible with his hurt leg as stiff as a board. ‘No…you don’t fight the same as pegasus knights or griffon riders, so I don’t have same issue.’ A smile curls at Robin’s lips and he softens as he says; ‘you’re one of a kind, Nowi.’

Nowi has been alone but Robin didn’t mean it like that, he was too kind. Sometimes it was hard to understand what people meant and she occasionally misread things but it was getting easier. ‘There’s only one Robin, too.’

Robin’s expression becomes sort of fixed. ‘I’m a dime-a-dozen Plegian whose betrayed their country and has a memory problem; that's probably a good thing.’

‘I turn into dragon and eat people when I’m angry,’ Nowi returns after brief pause, ‘but you’ve let me fight for you, and you’re letting me carry you now.’

Robin tilts his head. ‘You’re not always angry and I know you wouldn’t ever deliberately hurt us,’ Robin states like a fact, indisputable and unquestioned.

Nowi’s feels her toughed face stretch and flex into a dragon’s smile. She believed him, she always did when he spoke to her, she just wished Robin would believe her too. 'Robin's doing what he thinks is right. Plegia were being mean so you stopped them and your memory isn't your fault.

His other friends didn’t have the bad thoughts Robin did about himself, Nowi wished that'd help more. 'If you think I'm okay than you must be too, Robin. You're the only people I've had.'

‘You do know, Nowi, that you’ll always have a place with us?’ Robin asks tentatively after a pause, eyes shining from the colours in the sky and seeming to ignore any praise directed his way for the sake of comforting her.

Nowi feels herself still and has to remember that they're in the air, above the clouds and that carrying a person this high came with hazards. She had to stay focused. ‘…a place?’

Robin nods and reaches out to lightly brush his hand against Nowi’s chest plate. His skin feels like that silky dress Lissa had shown her, before the princess was dragging her away to force Robin into wearing it. He was soft, delicate and his touch was gentle but almost impossible for her to sense while she was in this form.

‘You might not want to settle down in Ylisstol, you can travel or move elsewhere, we’ll help with that too.’ Robin tells her as his skin warms her through. ‘But I thought I should mention it while I have time to: Ylisse will welcome you, you could…stay, with us.’

Nowi’s dragon form couldn’t cry, her body didn’t tear up like her other one did but she thinks if she wasn’t transformed, she would. No one had told her that before, no one had ever asked her to stay.

* * *

Eye-Spy was getting sort of repetitive and Robin was losing focus, he was struggling to stay awake but he was too worried to sleep. Nowi tried urging him to rest, he was poorly _,_  obviously in pain despite Lissa's and Mary's best attempts to stop thatbut he didn’t listen very well, even if it seemed like he was shivering.

Nowi tried asking him how he was doing. At this height it was probably very cold for a human but she wasn’t very good at feeling it in this form, her body kept her warm with the fire in her belly and the thickness of her skin. She also didn’t have any other experience, it wasn’t like there were people lining up to go for a flight, even if that should _totally_ be a thing.

Anyway, Robin wasn’t very straight forward when she questioned him, even with this stupid Curse he was under. It wasn’t like it wouldn’t be normal for Robin to be feeling a bit cold; he didn’t even have his cloak and he was made for the sun.

Robin probably didn’t want to worry her.

She worried anyway.

* * *

Once the sun had started to set, Robin’s shivering became more noticeable to a point that Nowi could now feel him rattling against her. She lights a small fire on the tip of her tongue, ignoring the taste of brimstone as she parts her mouth in order to better see her travelling companion.

Her two hearts drop at the sight of his trembling body, huddled to her and stiff as the dead. Robin is pale - paler than he ever should be with his dark skin and sweating. A fever, her mind supplies as concern speeds her forward.

Robin had stopped talking what felt like forever ago, and Nowi had first assumed that he had just finally fallen asleep. ‘Robin?’ Nowi whispers worriedly, after puffing out the fire harmlessly into the air.

‘…Nowi?’ Robin croaks, his chest sounding fluid-y to her sharp hearing in a way it had no place to be. He’s gotten ill, her ears pick it up, the gross mucus clogging his throat and nose, the sweat bubbling through his skin, his fast breathing… She’s gotten him sick. 

Freddy had forewarned her that she was going on ahead and wouldn’t be able to stop until she reached The Longfort. Nowi had past their friends position by miles and miles, they were days away on foot and she wouldn’t be able to find them now, even if she _did_ double back. She couldn’t just pullover, not when it was only the two of them. Robin couldn’t defend himself and if the Risen over took them…

Her wings were tired, muscles straining but she needed to keep going. Nowi had agreed to this journey because Cordy doing it would hurt Robin too much, and she didn't want that, so Nowi had _promised_ to look after him. She was soaring through the Border Sands, another half a turn from the moon and she’d reach the small stretch of ocean before she could follow the wall of The Longfort’s to reach its entrance. 

Nowi was in half a mind to go straight to Ferox but Freddy had cautioned her against that. Without Chrom, Flavia or Basilio she didn’t have any sort of jurisdiction and even if someone recognised Robin, there was still risk. Feroxians fight first and ask questions later, Nowi couldn’t afford to land and chance a battle if they didn’t recognise her as part of Chrom’s militia. 

‘Hey Robby, you hold on okay? We’re getting close now.’ 

‘…'kay, I trust you,’ was Robin’s weak response, before he's silent again. 

Nowi clenches her giant jaw and prepares herself to fly faster, slashing through the air like one of Robin’s Thoron attacks and continues at her fastest speed through the salt air, and the ocean rumbling below, through the ice and the snow fall. 

By the time Nowi has reached the gate of The Longfort, she is tempted to drop through her descent but she forces her wings to flex; to balance in the air to ensure she doesn’t jolt Robin on her way down and glides instead. Her vision is narrowing as she forces herself to stand, stomping and dragging her tail to the entrance while soldiers swam around them. 

‘State your business dragon,’ one demands as they poke her side with a spear. She can barely sense it and she doesn’t care enough to react otherwise. It wasn't a Beast Killer, Nowi didn't even think it was steel and Robin was safe in her arms, anyway, out of the way. It would take a lot more than that puny spear for them to hurt her.

Now. Words, she had to use words. What had Freddy said to her? 

‘I - I am an envoy of Chrom and - and your Khan.’ Her voice echoes, and a few of the closest soldiers take a step back from her. Nowi doesn’t know why, she probably doesn’t look all that scary when she is falling asleep on her hunches. 

‘You? You’re a _dragon.’_ One sneers out from the crowd while having the same tone others have used to say  _freak,_ or _monster._ Nowi is too old and too tired to flinch at that now, not when she had more important things to worry about.

‘I bring Tactician Robin, he - he’s been hurt in the battle,’ Nowi tries to reason as she shifts Robin in her arms. It is a gamble but she forces herself to lower further to make Robin visible to the humans, hoping that that would be enough. 

‘You are _trespassing_ -’ one continues, starts to advance with a weapon to their side. Nowi prepares herself to fight, thinks that Robin will be angry at her for hurting their friends but they’re not _acting_ very friendly and she has to look after him. 

Her feet crunch in the snow, her legs preparing to jump back into the air so she has the distance to unleash her breath when there is a commotion behind the gate. There are voices yelling and the soldiers startle when the entrance opens, and a person of metal is marching forward. 

‘You!’ the metal person addresses as they pass through the soldiers. Nowi notes numbly how they part for them, weapons lowering. ‘You say you bring Sir Robin to us, does that means the battle went poorly? Did our forces have to fall back?’

Nowi blinks tiredly, exhausted from the flight and from carrying Robin all this time but she knows that question is important and shakes her head. ‘No, we won. Gangrel is dead.’ 

The metal person takes a breath, drops their weapon into the white, ignorant to the cries around them and treks forward until Nowi rears back. ‘I am a boarder guard here, to let you through I must know you are not with the Mad King. I have fought Sir Robin before, allow me to identify him and you have my word that I will look after him.’ 

Nowi hesitates but it is cold here and Robin is a creature of fire, not ice. It is making his fever worse and she needs to get him warm, needs to look after his leg. She nods and further lowers him so that he is cradled to the metal person’s eye level.

The metal person carefully takes another step forward and is exceedingly slow, and cautious whensweeping Robin’s colourless hair out of his face. It doesn't take a second before the metal person’s eyes widen, and then they’re swearing. ‘Damn!’ They turn and point to one of the nearest soldiers to their right. ‘You there! Get me out of this, I cannot take my armour off myself.’ 

The solider delays before scrambling to remove the metal shell from the person. Gradually, the metal person loses half their size until they are not metal at all. ‘Fierce dragon, I am Raimi. Allow me to carry Sir Robin into our fort. He needs warmth, quickly, before the cold can take him.’ 

Nowi does not want to let him go, she had made a promise and Robin trusted her, but Chrom and Robin trusted these people too; called them friends and Chrom wouldn’t _ever_ let Robin get hurt. She takes a breath, allowing it to heat her mouth. ‘If you don’t look after him, I’ll. eat. you,’ Nowi warns.

Raimi inclines their head and deliberately positions herself to take Robin from her when Nowi remembers: ‘be careful of his leg, it’s broken.’ 

Raimi stills, eyebrows knotting as they examine Robin’s legs and suddenly notices the one with the brace. Raimi swears again but still hooks one of their muscled arms under Robin’s knees while the other curls around his shoulders. ‘I will be careful,’ Raimi swears.

Nowi watches tiredly as Robin’s weight is taken from her and slumps forward. In light and petals, her dragon form melts away until all that is left of her is her faux human body. Raimi double-takes but simply tells Nowi to follow their lead.

‘Are you able to walk?’ Raimi asks as Nowi struggles to keep up, swaying in place as her muscles ache from the smallest of her hairs to her biggest toe. 

‘I - I can.’ Nowi responds, determined to stay with Robin and see that they take care of him.

Raimi’s eyes narrow and the next thing Nowi knows, she has been scooped up by another soldier and she is getting carried inside with Robin. 

‘Do you know all of Sir Robin’s injuries? Would you be able to relay them to a healer?’ Raimi inquires shortly.

‘Yes,’ Nowi replies, blinking. ‘But Lissa’s already fixing Robin’s leg. He just got poorly on the way here.’ 

‘I see,’ Raimi responds. ‘I remember Princess Lissa, she’s a very talented healer.’ 

‘Yeah, Lissa’s great.’ Nowi smiles as two soldiers come forward with a pile of furs, one of which is blanketed over her, but she is far more interested in how the other soldier covers Robin.

Raimi probably notices her watching but they don't say anything about it. ‘We don’t have many healers here but we are good at treating the cold. Beside that, Sir Robin is strong, he will recover.’

Nowi nods. ‘Of course he will.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a set up but I hope it's interesting enough. I liked writing Nowi. For the first page and then it got pretty hard. If you are wondering why Nowi refers to Raimi as "they" it's because Nowi's tired and isn't always very good at working out gender. Or, that's what I figure; she's not human herself, I like to think she finds us really weird ^^".
> 
> I also gave her a nictitating membrane; a third eyelid like a crocodile and two hearts because I was thinking too deeply on her physiology. I reckon she'd have a third eyelid to protect her eyes from drying out in flight and two hearts to help regulate blood since her body is so large. Anyway, yeah. Thanks for waiting! More happening in the next chapter :).


	6. Deals To Be Made

‘Hey now, Green - what’s running through that head ‘o yours?’ 

‘Er…’ Stahl stalls, eyes like jewels or grass or similarly flowery things turn towards her from where they were staring through the camp fire at the captain. Sully’s partner was always contemplative, thoughtful in ways that their men like Vaike weren’t. She wasn’t always able to keep up with him in ways outside of battle but she had only need ask and he would tell her - eventually.

Now, though, Stahl’s stalling like he does when he’s picked up on a person’s sensitivity and is contemplating doing something but doesn’t know how to talk about it. Stahl was like that, a damn bleeding heart but he was at least in good company. ‘Spit it out,’ Sully demands as she elbows him into the soft of his cloaked side.

Stahl’s cheeks are flushed and he fidgets as he glances to Lord Chromand then back to her. His tongue peaks out to wet his lips and before Sully can make Stahl hurry it up, he is shifting on the log they’re sharing with Gregor and Miriel. Stahl’s knee bumps into Sully’s, his arm pushing into her side as he curls towards her direction.

Stahl’s eyes glow in the fire as he stares up from the thick mess that is his hair, cowlicks flicking in every direction to fall artfully around his head. Sully forces herself not to swallow as she notices how close he is, with his attention now on her and his breath warming her cheeks as the climate lowers with the night. The closer they get to Ferox, the colder it got as landmasses shifted and the weather changed and the sun disappeared.

Sully caught herself from leaning forward, towards his heat, as Stahl’s voice catches her unaware. ‘You…you’ve noticed - Lord Chrom and Robin?’

Stahl asks this, trying to be tactful though Sully could only guess that it was for any soldiers that could overhear as those two had been an undeniable, unsaid fact since the captain had first brought their tactician home. ‘I have _eyes,_ Stahl,’ Sully responds as that’s all it took. The two lovestruck fools were utterly devoted; she didn’t need a romantic bone in her body to see the affection between the two.

Stahl laughs awkwardly, just under his breath which fogs in front of him from the ice in the air. ‘Lord Chrom will be crowned once we’re home and you know the council…’ he trails off, once again glancing at the captain who is staring stoically at the ground as the two khans attempt to engage him in conversation, and try to distract him from what was obviously on his mind: Robin, and how he was so far away with such a serious wound.

Chrom had been determined to get to Ferox as soon as possible, if he hadn’t been commanding an army, Sully doubted he’d allow himself rest. He was showing his respect for his duty, and maybe for Robin as well, who had spent his nights, his days and his damned sanity saving them.

Now, it was nighttime, they hadn’t stopped until dusk had fallen and now Stahl was implying that the council would try and force a marriage on a prince Sully had put good effort into keeping him in one piece. Sully came from a family of knights though; she had a strong heritage even if she refused to use their influence in the courts and instead relied on hard work, and perseverance to climb the ranks. But her background still have her insight, from the name she wouldn’t keep too close to her chest that those old dastards weren’t beyond pushing their own wants above other’s.

‘No one would allow that,’ Sully says absolutely. Every one of the Shepherds were loyal to Chrom and would fight for him on any battle field, however much politics made her feel dirty. Robin, in her books, had done enough for the lot of them for a lifetime of favours even if it meant ensuring a romance she didn’t really want to think about. They were too much like her brothers for her to entertain conversations about it. ‘Anyone says anything and they’re gonna meet the sharp end of my sword.’

Stahl’s expression softens - face like a bloody dogs, all big eyes and tilted head and shit. ‘I think…I think not saying anything about it is part of the problem,’ he admits as his fingers tangle and knot themselves in his lap.

‘Say what?’ Sully blinks in confusion and hopes that Stahl can explain and that he does it quick. Lunch had ended awhile ago now and she didn’t relish trying to have this conversation again, because she would since it seemed important but she’d much rather Stahl just get to the meat of it so that they could get around to fixing it.

Stahl infuriatingly enough taps her knee as he responds. ‘Robin - he…I think when I was helping him to the healer’s tent that he was about to tell Lord Chrom how he feels,’ he utters quietly, his breath heating the space between them. ‘He hit himself before he could -’

‘You what?’ Sully winces at the thought. Stahl had woken her early to guard Robin before he was taken by Nowi before them, and he had looked _awful;_ like a small gust of wind could knock him off of his feet. It wasn’t something she could say she was accustom to, as however tired or injured Robin was, there was always an element of reliability about him. When Sully had followed Stahl to help prepare Robin for his trip, she hadn’t expected for him to look so bad, or for the amount of pain he was in.

Stahl nods, with a displeased slant to his brows and an unhappy glean in his eyes. ‘Lord Chrom…I think he’ll try implying things but, I’m not sure if he’ll be able to - to just come out and say it and if he doesn’t, I know Robin won’t.’

Robin was a genius. He was honestly one of the most extraordinary people Sully had met, and she knew that when she had first run into them when the risen hadn’t yet got a name, and Ruffles was following after her like one of Sumia’s pegasi. It had taken her seeing that extraordinary person walk into the barracks after that battle, back at the beginning, and witnessing his eyes shutter close when Maribelle had turned that tongue of hers in his direction, to realise he had stupidly low self-esteem.

He didn’t think he was worth anything and it always pissed Sully off. It wasn’t priority or social status or crap like that, not really, for the short period of time Robin was actually _in_ Ylisse, he had gone to town on the council and several lords without a trace of shame. Robin just had a habit of not thinking he was good enough and then letting that big brain of his reason the dragon crap out.

Sully didn’t need to be able to read faces like Stahl could to understand Robin like that; she had her own insecurities too, she knew what it looked like. And just like that, Sully was starting to get what Stahl was reaching for; he was always good at getting Sully on track to where he was going with very few words.

‘You wanna help out,’ Sully states like there was ever any doubt.

Stahl is a strange mix of sheepish and solemn as he gives a small smile with a nod. ‘I’m not sure how though,’ he admits as he weaves a hand through his hair in frustration, the strands are stiff from the frigid temperature and stand up even more oddly.

Sully shrugs even if she finds herself look over to the captain whose huddled numbly into his thick cloak. His expression is unfocused and his eyes appear a thousand miles away, because they _were._ Chrom hadn’t stopped worrying since Nowi had flown off with Robin to Ferox; it was the first time either of them had been seriously apart since Chrom had found Robin in that field, and it was because their birdie had gotten himself injured.

‘Just lock ‘em in a room, or something,’ Sully suggests. The two idiots just needed a bit of a kicking; get them to stop being so stupid and notice what was in front of them.

Stahl winces and laughs awkwardly. ‘This should…probably be handled a little more delicately,’ he responds to which Sully shrugs again. ‘I would talk to Lord Chrom, try to give him a bit of a push, you know? But…’

Sully frowns as she listens to the hesitance in Stahl’s voice. ‘But what?’

‘But we don’t know each well.’ Stahl finishes with something off about his tone. ‘I know he trusts me,’ Stahl reassures when Sully’s face twitches into something like annoyance. He reaches for her again, his gloved fingers skimming down her arm for a moment in his signal of comfort or _calm, please don’t hit me - don’t kill_ them.

‘Lord Chrom recruited me for the Shepherds, I’m a comrade of his but….’ Stahl pauses, searching for words as Sully tries not to interrupt. ‘I’m not his friend, not like - well, definitely not like Robin. But not like Sir Frederick, or Lady Maribelle or Sumia or….’

Sully raises an eyebrow as Stahl stops. ‘Or?’ she grunts in irritation as she waits.

‘You,’ Stahl breathes up as he grasps Sully’s shoulders in excitement. ‘You. You - the both of you trained together, didn’t you?’

Sully’s half surprised that Stahl didn’t know this but she didn’t tend to talk about her connection to the crown, or Chrom, and Stahl had been in with the wave of recruits after them. ‘We played together as brats,’ Sully replies.

Wonder flickers across Stahl’s face but he doesn’t even ask as he barrels forward. ‘Then - you, I mean you’d have to be…sensitive - but _you_ could talk to him.’

Sully would laugh if anyone else had asked her to be “sensitive” but this was Stahl, and it was a war too late to think he hadn’t already seen in her everything there was to see. To get a lot of her fellow knights-in-training to take her seriously, Sully had gone out of her way to make sure that the only perceived femininity about her was physical. Sentiment had become a very foreign thing and trying to get all sappy with people just tended to make her feel awkward, but then a lot of things made her feel awkward.

‘I’ll…see what I can do,’ Sully promises as she thinks about her knucklehead commander, even as she’s already planning the best way to approach the man. They had a good comradeship and sure - Stahl was right - they would consider each other “friends”, but it wasn’t the same type of thing she had going on with Ricken or Libra or heck, even Vaike. However down-to-earth Chrom was, he was still royalty, there was still a wall.

Stahl smiles then and it’s cold, they’re all hungry, hurt and sore and weeks from anything close to resembling home but it somehow makes Sully feel soothed to her bloody bones. ‘Hey,’ he says abruptly as he folds his leg left on top of his right as he inches closer, his palm coming up to skim over her cheek, briefly sliding a few strands of of her hair behind her ear. ‘We’re almost there.’

Sully’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire but she manages to return the smile. ‘Yeah, Green.’ She allows herself to stretch out her hand, a mirror to his as Sully inclines her head in agreement. ‘Almost there.’

* * *

Sully knocks on Chrom’s tent-post awkwardly, her toes curled in her shoes as the captain’s voice calls out for her to wait. She shifts as the cold bites at her through the layers of clothing that seemed to do little for her. Hopefully Robin was doing alright with the temperature, Feroxian’s were good with extreme weather, from biting snowstorms to scorching heat but Plegians weren’t so adjusted to anything but the sun. Tharja seemed to be barely holding on.

‘Hello - oh, Sully.’ Chrom blinks in curiosity as he registers who had called for him so late after peaking through his tent flap, the dark bags under his eyes only further highlighted by the candle he was holding between them.

Sully tries not to frown too much as she crosses her arms over her chest. ‘You gunna let me in?’ she demands though she knows Chrom was probably expecting a report or a problem to be bought to his attention at this hour, and for her to be quickly on her way.

Chrom’s head tilts in silent question but after a moment he steps back without word and allows her access into his tent. The insides are plain but spacious and already a lot more than any of the other tropes could call their own, but also far too simple to be labelled a prince’s room. The cot was looking ignored in the left corner while the desk was cluttered, a candle burning to the side with a map sagging to the floor. There is a coin purse and a compass that also catches Sully’s eye before she double-takes on the ring that is left on a stain bag -

‘Sully?’ Chrom asks in a way other people would ask “I thought you wanted to talk to me, why aren’t you looking at me?”, but that was the captain for you.

Sully takes a seat on his chair and waits until Chrom’s down hovering and he’s plonked himself down on his cot. ‘You…wanted something?’ her captain asks warily, and yeah, that’s fair. The last time Sully had gone to speak with Chrom privately about something, it was because Vaike was trying to spy on the girls bathing.

‘Yeah,’ Sully huffs as she attempts to figure out how to broach this. The silence starts to buzz and Chrom is definitely looking more and more uncomfortable before she goes, _ah to hell with it._ ‘So about your crush on Robin…how far have you gotten, exactly?’ Swear, some of the more observant recruits were whispering about them eloping, which might’ve been something Chrom would try to pull but Robin was sensible at the worst of times and wouldn’t have it.

Chrom sort of chokes on air. ‘Sully!’ he finally exclaims as an embarrassed flush raises against his cheeks.

‘C’mon, Chrom,’ Sully urges while ignoring her own self-consciousness. Stahl had tried to make some suggestions but they had ended up agreeing that they’d simply tag team the pair of them, and that Stahl would try whispering into Robin’s ear once they met back up. ’You’ve been a nervous wreck while we’ve been marchin’ to Ferox and you must be thinking ‘bout Robin’s condition. Ya been joined at the hip since forever.’

Which was a nice way for her to say “since Robin’s greatest self-proclaimed failure, since Lady Emmeryn fell to her death, since you watched your sister die and then started pulling everyone so close that it was near suffocating, _after_ you tried pushing them all away”.

Indignation crosses Chrom’s face but Sully simply stays seated and waits him out, reminding who exactly was talking to him. After a moment of tense stillness Chrom looks away, chin hitting his chest as he slumps in defeat and Sully knows she’s won some leeway.

‘Robin is my greatest friend,’ Chrom states with a gentleness he reserves for Robin and his sisters and small children, but she’d have to be deaf and _stupid_ not to also hear how he laments over his words.

Sully feels her nose flair in irritation and she can’t help the way defensiveness raises in her stomach on their behalf, because Stahl’s right; they wouldn’t get anywhere like this and if it was because of those lords she was getting her horse and her sword and - well. ‘I’ve been friends with Ricken since before he could walk proper, but I don’t look at him the same way you do to Robin.’

Chrom’s lips thin as he leans forward a bit to semi-snap: ‘no, those looks are reserved for Stahl.’

Sully feels her shoulders draw back, tighten but she tries to keep her cool. She had deliberately cornered her captain about something he was uncomfortable about, she had to expect some blowback. ‘Who the heck told you that?’ she demands because Chrom wouldn’t have figured them out, he was hopeless with that sort of thing to the point it was surprising that he knew his own feelings.

Chrom sighs as he reluctantly replies. ’…Robin may have implied it, accidentally.’

Ah, the Curse. Well, that explained things. Sully didn’t think there wasn’t a thing Robin didn’t know about any member of the Shepherds, which made this whole truth-telling business doubly inconvenient. ‘If you know that much now, you can bet I recognise what it looks like,’ Sully reasons as she pushes the feeling of her stomach down to the pits of her toes.

Chrom bites his lip as he uses one hand to run through his already ruffled hair, leaning on the other arm on his knee. ‘Robin…he’s magnetic. I’ve - I’m no good words, I can’t wax poetry about him.’

‘I’m not askin’ ya to,’ Sully replies a bit more kindly but also searchingly, hoping that it is enough to prompt him. Luck must be on her side this once because Chrom weaves his fingers together and tries again.

‘He _is_ my closet friend and I - gods above, Sully, I’d do anything for him,’ Chrom admits quietly, almost shamefully because they both know where devotion has led Ylisse; they’ve seen what it does.

‘I know,’ Sully tells him just as softly. ‘You love him.’

Fear is the brightest light in Chrom’s darkening eyes. ‘Sometimes I think I’m over this, I think to myself that Emmeryn raised me well enough to stop however much of my father I have in me from surfacing, and that I…and I can just, go up to Robin and tell him, stop this whole charade but then…’

‘But then he gets hurt,’ Sully finishes for him, she can see the thought process behind all this and remembers a time gone by from before she was knight, from before Chrom was a man.

Chrom nods hopelessly. ‘He gets hurt and I see him in pain and my blood - Naga forgive me, but my blood _boils_ and…’ he gestures uselessly, limbs appearing twice their weight and just as graceless. ‘When my father died and the ethnic cleansing was stopped, I promised myself that I wouldn’t find love; I couldn’t be my father.’

‘You’re not him,’ Sully states as strongly as she can but she’s not much for words either and she doesn’t know how to help this, Stahl would be better, Robin would out do himself like he always does but they’re not here.

‘I could be,’ Chrom rebukes emotionlessly. ‘I’m his son, after all, I’ve heard them comparing us and I’m not _that_ ignorant. And I love Robin, I do. I love him, I…’

Sully feels her jaw clench, how her teeth grind together. ‘He’s good for you, anyone’d be able to see that. He’s pulled you back from the edge before -’

‘Robin’s suffered and toiled and given his mind to efforts that aren’t his own, he’s supported me and yes, he’s stopped me but I’m not afraid of that, Sully. I’m not afraid that he’ll - he’ll “fail” me. I’m afraid that I can have him and that I’ll love him and that Robin will… When Emm…I painted that battlefield _red,_ Sully…’

Sully swallows as her mind draws back to the events that had turned into a nightmare, faded from colour and shape but vivid in how it sometimes keep her from sleep, how it haunts her; that battle more than others. They’ve been made to retreat before; it is not the first time Robin has led them either, but it was the first time they had had to flee on the backs of fallen comrades.

Chrom had been - hellish, almost possessed in how he tore through enemy troops, which had set out to meet them in the storm that echoed every Ylissean’s rage and sorrow. The captain had been charging ahead, breaking formation to kill anything in his path and Robin - his eyes during that, they were the worst she’d ever seen but not defeated, not then.

Robin kept them moving, kept them alive - kept _Chrom_ alive and got them out. Robin - a foreigner without paper to his name or a memory of his past - had somehow become the most stable thing in Chrom’s life, had become “it”, the “one”; whatever they were labelling it these days. Sully could hear what Chrom couldn’t _quite_ bring himself to say, which is that he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart should Robin die.

‘We’re at peace now -’ Sully attempts to reassure but that just seems to aggravate Chrom more as he stands, his cloak flurrying around his legs as it resets itself to the new angle.

‘We were at peace _then.’_ Chrom swings his arm wide, exposing a somewhat threadbare tunic which he quickly hides again from the shock of the cold. ‘Mother…she died and Father’s mind just - snapped.’

Sully sighed and stood herself. Her knees creaked as they unlocked and she felt the lower end of her spine whine at the new position but she turned to his desk, swiped two objects off of the surface and met Chrom in the middle of his tent.

He wasn’t looking at her now, cheek turned away and the longer of his fringe obscured his eyes. Sully didn’t fully think it through when she used her empty palm to slap him but damn was it satisfying. Chrom’s whole body jerked from the submissive thing he had had going on, as a large pale hand automatically went to tend to the injury as he came to stare at her.

‘ _Sully,_ what the -’ He started to demand, tone rough and bordering on betrayed before she extended her other hand, the one that now had his ring resting in the centre. ‘Sully -’

‘I know what this is.’ She glances down to this piece of jewellery, barely notes the craftsmanship that had gone into the thing, the mix of silver and gold and the sapphire that had been used to create the brand on the front. ‘Your Ma had it made for ya, when you were born. It’s for you to give to who you want to marry, it was _created_ for that and yer still have it.’

Chrom’s forehead creases, and he looks - sad as he stares down at it. ‘Sometimes I look at it to - remind me -’

‘And others?’ Sully presses as she jerks the ring further forward.

‘Others…others I want to see it around Robin’s finger.’ Hesitantly, Chrom takes the ring from Sully and that, he is careful with because Chrom has to be. ‘I…’

‘You ain’t no saint, Captain and no one expects you to be. You have a temper and yeah, you’ve gone on a rampage or two but you’ve never hit an innocent; you’ve never crossed a line. I couldn’t fight for ya if ya had. You’re as good as most men are gonna get and you - you can’t punish yourself for things you haven’t done; for stuff that hasn’t happened.’

Chrom’s stare lifts from the ring and if Sully could just smack some of that fear out of him, she would. ‘I can’t -’

‘Chrom, listen to me a second,’ Sully interrupts as she claps his branded shoulder, trying her best to centre him. ‘You’ve surrounded yourself with really good people and…I, look, if you ever do half of what your afraid of, you’re gonna hear about it from _somebody.’_

Sully watches as Chrom’s fingers clench around the ring. ‘You can’t promise me that.’

Sully frowns and tries to pick out all the notes from Chrom’s voice and fails. ‘Why the heck not?’

‘Because no-one said anything before, not really.’

Sully’s heart increases in speed. This can’t go on, Chrom can’t keep carrying this. He’ll snap under all the weight eventually. ‘Robin’s strong and that brain of his -’

‘Couldn’t stop him from breaking his leg!’ Chrom shouts with no small part desperation.

‘Then whatta ‘bout me!’ Sully returns at equal volume as she instinctively pushed Chrom away from her.

Chrom blinks for a second, stumbling for his footing. ‘What?’ he asks in confusion, sagging forward where he stands his ground however unsteady.

‘What about me? What if I - I could swear to you, to stop you,’ Sully hears herself say but her voice echoes unreliably in her inner ear so she doubles down. ‘Me an’ Stahl can beat anyone together. What if I swear an oath to you, to stop you if you lose your mind and order another ethnic cleansing.’

Chrom’s whole form is still and he looks shocked to his core. Sully is firm, her back straight and crap, she hopes she looks stronger then she feels. ‘…I can’t ask that of you,’ Chrom says eventually, voice tender, thankful but not at all agreeable.

It isn’t when he’s about to step away that Sully reaches out again. ‘Like heck you can’t! I am a _knight_ to this realm, don’t treat me like a stupid little girl. You’ll be more then a captain in a couple of months and Robin - there’s not a soul in this army of yours that don’t owe that man an arm and a leg. If you promise to offer that ring to him, proper like, on bended knee - the whole shebang - then I’ll swear that to you, I’ll give you my word.’

Chrom’s face is sort of..frozen. ‘…he might not even say yes.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Sully insists immediately after. ‘He can laugh at your stupid face and the deal’d still be on. It’s my duty to protect people. Dammit, Chrom, I could be encouraging you to embrace a deep, secret desire to be a pegasus knight and it wouldn’t matter a lick to me. This just happens to be the opera of your love life.’

Chrom’s wavering with indecision and Sully tries another push, just one more even though she’d stand here all night if she had to. ‘We’re arguing in hypotheticals anyway, Robin ain’t goin’ anywhere and our birdie’d say yes to you because he’s just as hopeless as you are -’

‘Sully.’ Chrom cuts in. ‘Sully, what you’ve just promised me - if you ever went against me, even if it was to keep your oath, even if I had become my father -’

‘Which _ain’t_ happening -’

‘Sully, it would kill you. You wouldn’t survive that.’ 

Sully’s eyes narrow, a fire in her belly as she steps into his space, butting up against his chest even when she has to force her neck to kill the distance made between height and Chrom’s stupidity. ‘If you ever got as bad as the previous king, Captain, I promise you that neither would _you_.’ 

Chrom’s eyes have turned into miniature moons, wide as they get on his pale face. His gaping mouth eventually shuts though, relief tempering his expression as the grip on the ring eases. ‘…thank you.’

‘We got a deal, then.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was meant to be out weeks ago but these past two months have been some of the worst of my life. I won't bore you with all the details (cuz then the CNs would be as long as the chapter) except one: my mum fractured her fibula and tibia in three places. She's had to have her dislocated ankle manipulated back into place and four operations and I've been looking after her since. Had some down time and I'm sort of desperate for some escapism. Um, though the reason why I'm going into it is I'd like to ask if anyone knows any good websites for recovery?
> 
> (And if you don't like this chapter then lets all just pretend that its prefect or that it doesn't exist. Yeah.)


	7. In The Meantime

‘…when’s he gonna wake up? It’s been _ages_ , now.’ 

‘I’m sure that it will be soon, Ser Robin is -’

‘That’s what you keep saying!’ The dragon-born burst out, still petulant but also with an edge of warning that flared when her worry burnt too bright. Ser Robin’s fever and his broken leg had weakened his body to the point he’d sleep through most of the day. There was improvement and he was getting stronger every time he woke, but the dragon-born was focused on the pain, his reddened cheeks, the mess of his hair.

Raimi did not know Ser Robin well but she had come to enough understanding of the man, that seeing him like this would be distressing to those who loved him. During his time here, Raimi had observed him to be a particular man who valued a sort of chaotic control and disorder organisation. He wasn’t exactly prim nor proper but neither was Ser Robin someone she thought to see so vulnerable. 

‘You’ll just have to be patient.’ Raimi knows that she has to be stern with this as Ser Robin was quite sick and recovery will be gradual. Hopefully, since Ser Robin was young and resilient, he would not be one to succumb to the heat and the pain. 

‘I _have_ been patient,’ the dragon-born mutters into the sheets, bent over the cot as she was with her resting against the bedding and into Ser Robin’s side. She’d rarely left Ser Robin and every time she did - whether to relieve herself, or to look out onto the battlements to try and spot their convoy returning home the dragon-born would always wait for Raimi to be visiting, to leave her in charge. Raimi wasn’t sure if it was trust, or whether it was simply the better of two evils to the dragon-born. 

(Any time before the the dragon-born would depart, it wouldn’t be before giving Raimi a narrowed-eyed look. The dragon-born had not threatened anyone since she’d entered the gate but there was a certain amount of menace about the creature’s aspect.)

‘This isn’t something that can be rushed,’ Raimi responds as she lowers the tray of food onto the make shift table, created from an empty barrel of mead. The first time they’d attempted to get some solids into their allies, the dragon-born had treated the food suspiciously and hadn’t allowed it near Ser Robin until she’d sniffed at it and taken a spoonful of the meal into her own mouth.

‘I…know, that,’ the dragon-born concedes grimly. Raimi can see in the corner of her eye how the creature delicately plays with some strands of Ser Robin’s hair, tilting the three-legged stool perilously as she leans closer. ‘Humans are so…’

Raimi stirs the stew as she waits for this mood to pass. Ser Robin was better off missing it so that he didn’t worry. ‘So?’ she ends up prompting as she further mixes the thick broth with the hardy potatoes and lambs meat. With their tough climate, few things survived and vegetables were hard to grow, animals died easily and they ended up having to rely on trade more than their pride could handle. 

‘Humans are - are like…eggshells,’ the dragon-born decides finally as she twirls a strand of Ser Robin’s hair between her long fingers. Her face, seemingly so young shows her age in her melancholy. ‘You step on them wrong and they…break.’ 

‘…they can be hardy, too. You’ve picked strong people to align yourself with,’ Raimi states because she’d fought with Prince Chrom and Ser Robin and their men. They were fighters of mettle. ‘You shouldn’t worry so much.’ 

‘…they _are_ very strong,’ the dragon-born concedes quietly. 

‘Well, now that we’re in agreement,’ Raimi begins in a slightly louder tone as she lifts Robin’s bowl and spoon into her hands. ‘Why don’t you wake Ser Robin up so we can get some food into him?’ 

The dragon-born blinks. She shifts so that all the stroll legs are balanced on the wooden floor boards, straightening in borrowed clothes that don’t quite fit her. Raimi is prepared to hand her the bowl and the spoon as the dragon-born glances from the food back to Robin’s face. She gently pokes his cheek with the sharp point of her nail. ‘Robby? Wakey wakey,’ she breathes into his ear. ‘It’s time to wake up.’ 

Ser Robin’s eyebrows further burrows as the dragon-born continues to poke and plod him until the stimulus starts to rouse him. His eyes flicker open, hazy in pain and exhaustion. He breathes in sharply, acclimatising to the hurt that must be circulating through his veins. ‘No-wi?’ he asks haltingly as comprehension doesn’t dawn right away. 

The dragon-born’s smile is strained but she keeps it in place anyway. ‘Hiya Robby! We got some food for you,’ she states as she takes the plate and cutlery. Between the two of them, the dragon-born shifts another pillow under him so that he was sat up, though that caused quite a bit of discomfort, it also wouldn’t do for him to choke. 

‘Th-thank you,’ he whispers with a tremble to his voice as the dragon-born sniffs at the meal and takes a tasting. Ser Robin doesn’t even blink, whether it was because this had become routine or he was suffering from mind fog, Raimi wasn’t sure.

Raimi shifts though it barely catches his intention. ‘Since you’re up I shall get you some pain medication.’ Ferox didn’t have many healers, they had other things to concentrate on but they did have a lot of brewers amongst their merchants. They were expensive and tended to only be used in emergencies, Ser Robin’s condition though stable, was an emergency. 

Bleary red eyes look to her. Ser Robin had been admirable with controlling his pain though it was more than evident he relied on the potions he was given, even if he took as a weakness. Raimi had seen warriors double of Ser Robin be broken by his type of injury and she knew that many at the Longfort found his tolerance commendable.

‘…that would be appreciated,’ he admits through his teeth. That he’d been Cursed to be unable to lie also made some of their conversations awkward, as few of them they’d had. Raimi was half-certain that that was why the dragon-born was so strict in who saw him. Having to bare your soul to anyone who speaks to you was a disquieting thing, though Ser Robin seemed to be fighting it. 

Raimi inclines her head and leaves the dragon-born to aid in helping Ser Robin with his meal. Giving them some privacy that had been missing since they arrived, though Raimi had made sure none of the boarder patrol had passed the door. The dragon-born was a bundle of energy, distrustful and wary and she only truly settled when left to get own her own with Ser Robin. 

‘See ya later, Lady!’ the dragon-born called after her as if it was the last thing on her mind when Raimi knew that the dragon-born was demanding her return. The one time that her other duties had gotten in the way of retrieving Ser Robin the potion - well, it didn’t bear thinking about. One of their healers had had to be called away from their post and Ser Robin was sedated. 

Raimi had no intention of a repeat performance and had gotten strict with doing only what she must before delegating what she could not to others. It had caused complaints and a raise in tensions to an already very stressful post, however there was little Raimi could do. They had three healers in the area, all of which had their own roles to fulfil. They could not be running potions to and front Longfort, their time was simply too valuable.

Ser Robin was also an honoured guest; a commander of an allied army and on good terms with both their khans. If anything were to happen to him under their supervision…there’d be hellfire to pay. So, Raimi would do her part to ensure his recovery and that things keep moving smoothly here until their coalition returned. 

If that meant dealing with ignorance and dastardly natures then so be it. At the Longfort into Ferox it was half a days ride to the closet apothecary and Raimi had already let Ser Robin’s personal supply dwindle, but she still had to throw about the idea of retrieving more in her head. A lot of the warriors manning the Longfort - though strong - did not have the strongest moral fibre and there’d already been two incidents too many, where Raimi had to stop or fight one of the guards from going after the dragon-born.

Dragon-borns were valuable, after all. A Bandit could make a lot of money from selling one and as youthful and pretty so this Nowi was worth even more coin. That the dragon-born was protecting a Plegian and Raimi had a headache twice the size as the beast that had appeared at their wall. A headache because not everyone welcomed Ser Robin’s presence here, and doubly so with the company he kept. 

Ser Robin was also at greater risk, not just as immobile as he is but that he wasn’t always lucid. That sharpness of mind dulled under the weight of his body, pushed further through the humiliation he felt in needing to be taken care in such intimate ways. So tired, every few hours he was falling asleep and there was little Ser Robin could do to fend for himself. 

That Curse also seemed to be weakening him, fighting it as he was. Not all the time, sometimes Ser Robin was resigned to speaking the truth but others he’d all but bite through his lip to stop himself. It drove the dragon-born into fits of anxiety and it was unpleasant for herself as well. It made her start looking for triggers to avoid the subjects Ser Robin did not wish to speak about. He did not have the energy to waste on it and it seemed to hurt him - to go against the magic placed on him. 

Raimi just hoped Prince Chrom and his sister returned soon, the princess especially for her healing talents. Or any of their number or took focus in the art. Raimi was not a maid even if she was doing quite the good impression of one, and she was worried about making a mistake and putting her Khans into an uncomfortable position. 

This was - after all - the first venture their Khans had aided another nation in for a number of years, and with how isolated they were and the constant badgering they received from the Plegians, even if _their_ focus was mainly in manufacturing an incident between Ferox and Ylisse… 

Raimi needed ser Robin to be well - or as well as he could be when his companions got here and it was not easy. When the Ylisseans got here, _then_ at least, Ser Robin would at least be safer from…outside antagonism.

_Not long now,_ Raimi had to tell herself and decided that even if it weren’t long, there was no telling what sort of provisions they would bring with them. If Raimi left it and they had no pain medicines or anything to supplement it. Well, they were on Ferox soil, they were the providers in this instant. 

Raimi nodded, and set out to leave for the stables on the North side of the wall. She would go to the apothecary, buy as much pain medicines as she could carry - without clearing them out, and bring it back in preparation. After, that is, getting one of the phials that had yet to be used to Ser Robin before leaving, to avoid the remedy burning out of him while she was gone.

Another instance, however accidental the first, of Ser Robin left without medicine and the dragon-born was likely to carry through with her promise. It had upset her greatly, the state Ser Robin had been in before the healer had arrived and sedated him and Raimi cannot fully blame her for that. 

The dragon-born, after all, had kept up a strong front for him and Raimi knew that she would continue to do so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really sorry about this chapter. I had stuff I had to do for it that I barely got through or barely touched upon. It's just - a bit trigging, honestly. After seeing my own mum break her leg and having to care for her, it made this difficult. I needed this chapter here for pacing and progression but it wasn't easy and...I was fighting myself with every word.
> 
> I hope this at least adds an interesting perspective, even if I know. Well. Yeah. I'm probably gonna have to skip past stuff like this in the future because I honestly don't think I'll be able to get through it. Luckily, with the distance Chrom and the other's are travelling, however close they are /now/, they'll return later in the healing process so it won't be so hard. 
> 
> (Chrom next chapter, maybe reunion then if not the next. Depends on how much I need the refocus.)
> 
> P.S. wary as I am about the length of these notes, I want to apologise for how rough this chapter is gonna be. I can't bring myself to properly proofread it at the moment.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Are you sure that you’re not cold, Milord?’ 

‘Everyone’s cold, Freddy. Lay off will ya? We don’t ‘ave the air for yer bellyachin’.’

Lissa’s big brother barely glanced at the two quibbling knights, he had always had a bit of a one track mind and it well and truly wasn’t with them now. With the terrible condition Robin was in, it was no surprise. 

Lissa, herself, was worried sick. She and Maribelle, it was there job to look after people but they hadn’t been in the position. Robin’s idea to travel back ahead was better than sticking with them for the time it had taken them to reach the Longfort but Lissa also resented it. She hated that she wasn’t with him to help him. 

Robin’s situation hadn’t left her with a good feeling. He was one of their’s; not just a soldier or one of their allies, not that any live wasn’t important. Just that, he was their’s and that meant she had more to do, for him.

Robin was a Shepherd, a friend and Chrom’s important person. He was family and seeing him so hurt…it hurt her too, not to say anything for what it’s done to Chrom. There was a lot that Robin had done for them since he had joined them on that day in the field, the first time he led them. Most of all, it wasfor saving her brother. 

Lissa reaches out to grab hold of Chrom’s hand. It’s cold but no colder than her’s. ‘We’re here, we’ll be able to see him.’ She smiles, giving no promises on Robin’s condition. His blue eyes glance to her and he tries a grin but it’s weak and his eyebrows remain furrowed, heavy. 

He breathes out and in Ferox’s rigid temperature it ghosted in the air between them. He nods weakly. ‘I know that,’ he says and his throat sounds tight. ‘I…know, it’s just - taken so long.’ Chrom had pushed them about as fair as they could go but Frederick and the khans had also made sure that he couldn’t force it. That they had been waylaid by risen several times hadn’t helped his frustration.

But Chrom had _listened,_ he had listened and he - hadn’t run off. and however much they rushed, Lissa was thankful for that. She doesn’t remember Emm - falling. She doesn’t remember it though she _knows_ she had seen it. Her memories of those few weeks are of Chrom and the certainty she felt as she watched him break formation again and again, as he reckless charged their enemy. Lissa’s nightmares as they were chased down was of losing her brother to the madness glinting in his eyes.

She’d never been so _happy_ to be wrong. 

Robin had done that. Had made him Chrom again. Lissa wasn’t really sure how, she’d been worn thin with her duties and the stress and her own grief but it had cost him. Robin had followed her brother, kept to his side in a way the other Shepherds didn’t - _couldn’t._ Robin had been injured and Lissa can only imagine what had been going through his mind but she was so grateful. So, so grateful. That she wasn’t alone in the world. That she didn’t have to standby to not one loss but two. 

Lissa had enjoyed their pranks before Robin had gotten one over her but he had quickly become less of a friend and more of a family, now. Things had changed. Robin was good, he was sarcastic and smart and cared. Lissa also owed him.He wasn’t going to lose his leg. He was going to be _fine._

He wasn’t fine.

Lissa could tell that immediately from the way the Guard - Raimi - had run straight to her with barely a glance to her khan or Chrom, once they had past the border and had entered the fort. Conversations creased and the atmosphere shifted. Lissa got disregarded enough outside of her duties as a cleric. The woman also looked harried, tired.

‘Princess Lissa,’ she gasps quickly. She’s out of breath, like she had run to them as soon as she had seen them coming. Lissa hoped she hadn’t. That implied a level of desperation Lissa didn’t want in this situation. ‘Please, come quickly.’ 

‘Raimi?’ Flavia asks but Raimi waves her off. 

Lissa’s stomach is in knots and it feels like there is a norse around her neck. ‘What’s going on?’ Chrom demands faintly but that’s obvious. People only want a healer for one reason and it’s never good. 

Raimi’s face tightens, expression grim but urgent as she shakes her head in agitation. ‘Forgive me, Prince Chrom but this is dire.’The ground falls away and the colour in her eyes dim as she desperately grips on the shaft of her staff. It’s all she has, all she ever has. She’s starting to hate the weakness she finds in herself. ‘Princess, Ser Robin took a turn. We’re not sure what’s caused it but he has a fever -’

‘Where is he?’ Lissa startles and looks to her side to see the dark mage - Tharja stepping forward, away from their main circle which had been separated from the foot soldiers and allies. They had been taken to the resting quarters. 

‘In a private room,’ Raimi responds instantly.

Tharja’s eyes darken. ‘It’s the curse. It’s getting worse.’ Her voice is rough as she states this even if she gestures in the direction Raimi had sprinted from. ‘Take us. Now.’ 

Raimi nods, briefly glancing towards Lissa whose shoulder has suddenly been taken in hand by Maribelle who leads her onwards. She hates how she stumbles, how shaky her movements have become as she tries to keep up with their quick pace.

Libra, another newbie has joined them with Chrom just a little in front who is looking accusingly at Tharja. ‘You didn’t mention this,’ he states and there is anger burning there but it began as fear and Lissa can’t truly focus on it as her heart stutters in her chest. Fevers were _awful,_ and it would further weaken his body when its sole focus should be on mending itself. 

Tharja barely glances at him. ‘I wasn’t entirely certain there was anything _to_ mention.’ 

‘Tharja.’ There is warning in Chrom’s tone. Lissa hates it. She can’t stand it, but Tharja isn’t threatened and of that, Lissa is barely surprised even if she _had_ seen the way Chrom had brought after. What he had been like. 

‘Robin left the following day, Princeling,’ Tharja snaps. ‘It wasn’t like I could monitor him and Theban isn’t uncomplicated. I saw no reason, when we were weeks from this place, that I should tell you something concerning when there was nothing either of us could do about it. 

_When I found out I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to worry you,_ was hidden under that passive aggression, maybe. Lissa swallows. ‘What’s happening, then?’ She asks, wanting _anything_ to work with. 

Tharja’s eyes flicker to get and Lissa thinks she can see the concern in them but the dark mage is so hard for her to read, it’s difficult to tell. ‘If Robin would be honest than he’d be able to have more control, the curse would relax and so would the compulsions. If he fights against it, it will make him sick.’

‘How sick?’ Lissa’s voice wobbles and she’s not proud of that. Tharja looks at her and doesn’t answer and she finds that’s enough of one. ‘But we can save him,’ she asserts desperately. Tharja stays silent. ‘We _can._ Can’t we?’ 

‘Tharja,’ Chrom pleads and Robin had value all his own, Lissa selfish desire to protect her brother notwithstanding. Robin was the _best,_ the absolute best but she - if anything happened…if they were to lose him now…

Tharja’s lips purse. ‘If Robin were to cease fighting the curse’s compulsions and receive the correct medical attention…’

Lissa nods frantically. ‘We can do that. _We can do that.’_

‘He was fine to start with,’ Raimi swears as she leads them to a stone staircase. ‘But when we were talking, sometimes he’d stop himself from saying something. He’d bite it off - anything to stop the words.’ 

Tharja inclines her head. ‘That would do it,’ she states drily. She looks at them, before settling on Chrom. If Lissa wasn’t so stricken, she’d be more unnerved by it. As it is, she barely pays it any attention as they race down a thin corridor. She almost trips over herself when Raimi abruptly halts outside a door.

Faintly, over her own loud uneven breathing, Lissa can hear overwrought whispers from a childlike voice and pained noises. Her toes clench in her boots. Lissa cannot bear to look at Chrom as she stares widened at Raimi. ‘Now, please, prepare yourselves,’ the woman says, glancing at each of them before opening the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ! Some stuff about the future of TTOTM. So, I’m sure some of you have noticed that there is now an end chapter - 10 and that I’ve set up a series for this. I wanted to clarify because this chapter is probably the worst thing I’ve written in a very, very long time and I’m honestly pretty ashamed of it. 
> 
> I need to explain, because you’ve all been so lovely to me. This story was always going to have multiple arcs but due to what’s happened in my personal live I’m having to rush through this one. I love this story, I love what I’ve got planned for the future arcs but I literally cannot probably write for this one anymore. 
> 
> My brain just can’t, every time I try to start writing for TTOTM, well, it's like squeezing water from a rock. I'm trying really hard to get through it because I'm so grateful to everyone whose supported it but I hope you understand why writing about what’s going on at the moment has become distressing to me. I can't think of Robin like this without thinking of my mum and it makes me feel a bit ill. 
> 
> I don't want to bother anyone with it or - yeah, but it's impossible seeing someone you love in that much pain and being unable to help them and then trying to care for them and not really recognising them because people change when their in pain. People really don't take broken bones seriously. I guess we've just been desensitised with the media how it is. 
> 
> I know that it’s probably not much of excuse. This chapter for example - the pacing’s shit. So much is wrong. This was meant to be like - five chapters or so of build up to this. Where Robin's condition gets worse with his stubborn refusal to speak about his feelings. It's meant to be a slow realisation that the curse is what's effecting him like this. But I literally can't write what I had initially planned for. I don't want people to feel like I'm being lazy I really can't do it. 
> 
> I’ll be fine once I can finish this arc and then get onto the sequel where the main focus won’t be making me think about - what it’s currently making me think about. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for being patient and continuing to come back with my slow updates and rewrites and - well, this disaster. I'm sorry if I've disappointed anyone.


	9. Fools, The Lot of Them

‘You’re a fool, you know.’ The silence that proceeds and follow after Tharja’s statement just further irritate her as she stares holes into Robin’s body. He was laid out in bed, his leg held tight and strong in it’s support, propped up on pillows while his body was twisted and curled away from the door. Robin’s head was off it’s pillow, hair a tangled mess behind him, pushed off his sweating face as his hands gripped hold of his chest and mouth. 

‘Tharja,’ Nowi reprimands because she was the only one Tharja could not get to leave. The other’s had refused to start with, all too softhearted to want to leave their friend in such a state even though their presence had just made his condition worse. The Khan, at least, had enough sense to follow her instructions and force the others out.

‘ _Robin,’_ Tharja continues on deterred but Robin won’t answer her. He had not said a word since they had all entered the room beyond a rough exclamation of the princeling’s name. He coked off whatever tried to leave him and Tharja’s eyes could see the strain as the curse further strangled him.

The princess had and her entourage of healers had aided Robin the best they could; checking on his leg, giving him something for the pain before dealing with the symptoms the curse was causing, mainly the fever which would soon burn Robin of his last breath. That Robin had the strength deny the curse’s compulsions; the strength of will was perhaps unsurprising, that he _did,_ wilfully ignoring the consequences spoke of his stupidity.

‘This is killing you,’ she says savagely, through her teeth. Nowi’s face crumbles but Robin stays turned away from her, unresponsive. ‘Fine.’ She sneers. ‘Fine, then. Have it your way.’ She ignores Nowi’s startled cry after her as she sweeps out of the room to find the Princeling. They -

had to talk. However much Tharja would prefer not to. 

Tharja had known Robin for a great many number of years, more than the man himself was aware of. Before he went by a corrupted version of his name and went back on his oaths and lost both his wishes for the future and duties he had once seen as sacred. Before he was broken to the point where the pieces could speak.

Of course, with his upbringing and the position he had been born into, Robin had always had his cracks. Being chosen and baring Grima’s mark - maybe that’s how anyone would be, but Tharja had seen the beauty in them, back when he knew her and spoke her name. Back when he was her’s, before he had run from the desert with barely a goodbye left for her. 

Tharja expected Robin’s departure, had known it was coming before he had. When she woke up one morning with a premonition in her dreams and his grimoire beside her bed, well, it had been enough to tell her. Tharja had even understood with the current government, the state of their country, the fury of their God and the need to change the direction fate was pointing. 

Robin had told her the night his mother had “mysteriously” died what they were planning to do; that he was going to be used as a sacrifice to bring Grima onto the mortal plain. Visions had shown that this would prove disastrous. That it would drive Grima mad and that madness would be used against the Ylisseans in act of terrible revenge. Robin had plans from then, more than he ever disclosed to her beyond visiting their sister country and warning them, trying to work with them into helping them. And he had decided to do this alone.

She had understood but Tharja had hated him for leaving her behind. It wouldn’t take a genius to work out where he was going, the desperate, covert searches for their lost prince was normal, how it all settled down in a matter of months, less so. Seeing “Robin” for the first time, so unlike the boy she had grown up with, with how unfamiliar she was to him, and she could guess why news on their prince had gotten so quiet. They had _done_ something to him.

More than Robin leaving her, not allowing Tharja to aid him, was the dark consuming betrayal she felt every time he looked at her without looking at her and talked to her like she was a stranger. And Chrom, Tharja hated the prince doubly for taking what was left of him from her. 

Robin was happy though, contented, it was easy for Tharja to see and he was even working against those visions, preventing them without even being aware he was doing so. She tries not to let that sting too much. That but a few years with these people did more than what Tharja was able to accomplish in decades.

The bonding tattoos encircling her neck she had never had the chance to present could stay hidden, like Robin’s identity and whatever he had been before he went by “Robin” - well, it was obvious that that man died the night he fled into darkness. 

Romance was for weak-minded fools, in any case. Tharja had always been more focused in her studies even when she had had attentions. It didn’t matter and they obviously had other things to focus on at the minute. 

_This is fine,_ Tharja tells herself. Chrom would at least provide for Robin in the state he was in now, against a country that had meant to be his. Against a country who’d been twisted and hurt and damaged through war and a king that had deserved every pained breath he had breathed before he had perished.

Tharja was not weak.

She was not weak and knew what she had to do. 

‘Chrom.’ He was easy enough to find, slumped in the stairwell with a number of his men. He jolts at her voice but his eyes are tight when they address her. Her likes to focus more on how her anklets crack against the rough stiles underfoot, how her clock drags and weighs on her shoulders. Chrom’s expression is panicked, lost. _Pathetic_ , she thinks. 

‘Tell him,’ Tharja says simply.

Chrom blinks. ‘What?’ he asks hoarsely but his men know, they looked a mixture between resigned and worried and hopeful.

Tharja’s lips purse. _And stupid,_ she adds silently.

‘The biggest secret Robin has,’ _that he remembers._ ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you what it _is,_ princeling since you’re keeping it’s pair close to your chest too. Tell him so that he can.’

Chrom pales further. It’s almost impressive. ‘You mean -’

‘Don’t play dumb, princeling,’ Tharja snaps as she looks him down. ‘You surely _know_ what he will not say at this point. _I_ cannot release him from this pain, but you can. You Ylisseans with all your ridiculous sentiments, _surely_ this should be easy.’ 

Chrom is shaking at this point, when his red knight reaches for him to grip his arm. ‘Chrom,’ she says urgently. ‘C’mon, man. Hold it together. Remember our deal?’

‘Yes,’ Chrom responds with an uneven voice. ‘But - but what if he doesn’t…and then I’ve made things worse.’ 

‘He’s _dying,’_ Tharja states harshly, doesn’t care how the flinch. ‘You _cannot_ make things worse than they already are. We don’t have the time for your indecisiveness. Whatever is making you falter, your love for him is either worth this to you or he is not.’

‘It’s not about that!’ Chrom shouts back even if he pinks a bit at her finally acknowledging what they’ve been talking about. It sort of just makes him look sicker. ‘He’s worth twenty of me.’

Tharja silently agrees.

‘Milord,’ Stahl says lightly as he inches forward because literally _everyone_ involved knows what’s going on. What could silence Robin now when, if to get better, he should be anything but; what had been brewing between their commander and their chief tactician. The only one’s who did not want to admit it were the ones in question and it was _tiresome._ ‘I promise you, I swear on my sword that Robin will not reject this. Not if he knows his feelings are welcomed and that you can assure him.’ 

Chrom stands but it is too slow and he rocks when he is finally on his feet. Tharja forces herself to move. Her tome falls out of her arms and she doesn’t give a damn as she snags the prince’s collar and drags him down to her level. ‘Choose and choose _now,’_ she hisses to his wide eyes. ‘I cannot find the right incantation to sever this. To allow me to do so, you must fix this.’ 

_You have to,_ Tharja cannot bring herself to say for all that she shakes Chrom. _Any other way, but I will not lose him like_ this _._

‘Okay.’ Chrom’s voice breaks. ‘Okay.’


End file.
